


Loyalty Mission: The Coldest of Hearts

by Orionis



Series: Shepard-Vakarian: Expanded [1]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Planet, Alien kids, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, F/M, Garrus Heart Big Guns, Gen, Interspecies Relationship(s), Justice, Mass Effect 1, POV Shepard (Mass Effect), Paragon Shepard (Mass Effect), Pre-Relationship, Pre-Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Protectiveness, Spacer (Mass Effect), War Hero (Mass Effect), Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orionis/pseuds/Orionis
Summary: Shepard has had Garrus' back from the beginning, defending him against the hostilities of a biased Rear Admiral, and coming down hard on the prejudices of a human crew during the first few weeks of her command. The Normandy is a symbol of interspecies cooperation and Shepard is driven to uphold that.Then a ghost from Garrus' past resurfaces: a salarian geneticist who has changed his name and started...branching out in his research. Shepard now has to fight to keep her new ally from straying down a renegade path - but can anyone stand between an angry turian and his quarry?(Set during Mass Effect 1, expanding upon Garrus' loyalty quest - now with bonus illustrations!)
Relationships: Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: Shepard-Vakarian: Expanded [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069295
Comments: 23
Kudos: 37





	1. A Leap into the Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> One thing I've always loved about Mass Effect 1 FemShep is how stiff she is compared to appearances in subsequent games. She's still proving herself as a Commander, keeping it professional, being awkward around Garrus...and Garrus himself is still a hot-headed young C-Sec officer slightly in awe of her, slowly coming round to the Paragon modus operandi. So we're delving into his loyalty quest, which was sweet but so very short. Hope you enjoy!

_“It’s something about the mandibles. And the fangs. The way they stalk around – we were at_ war _thirty years ago, for crying out loud! Is it truly wise, letting one on board an Alliance vessel? The Spectre I could understand, I mean, there’s no ordering a_ Spectre _around. But this turian…”_

 _“Not to mention that huge krogan down there too. You know how violent they are? At least he’s out of the way, just like the asari is, and they’re not anywhere near the CIC. But I’m not too sure about that suited-up one…what was it? A quarian? I’m nervous about having an alien by the drive core. We just don’t know their habits, their behaviour…back on Earth we wouldn’t have_ animals _near critical equipment, so why are we allowing aliens to roam around up here? Who's to say they're not just as unpredictable?”_

_“I hope Shepard knows what she’s doing. Captain Anderson must have had some faith in her if he made her Commander. Let's just hope he made the right call.”_

* * *

Shepard paused just inside her cabin, giving herself a moment to compose herself after what had been a long day. It hadn't been too long since they'd left the Citadel after a brief stopover for fuel and supplies – with four different species of aliens now on board the requisitions officer had had some inventory adjustments to make. The krogan and asari hadn’t required much, but having a turian and a quarian on board meant some special considerations had to be made.

“Dextro-amino chirality”, she’d heard; regular rations would be indigestible for them at best, and at worst, provoke an immune response. Not really something she wanted to risk, on the long journeys they were to make.

“We’ve got some dextro packages left over from Nihlus’ tenure,” the officer had told her, when Garrus and Tali’Zorah had first joined the ship. “But they’re turian rations – very high protein, mostly meat-based. I’ve been told quarians exclusively eat plant matter, and Miss Vas Neema also wouldn’t be able to handle solid hardtack with her…particular setup. The only way she’d be able to eat those rations would be if they were highly refined, pulverized and triple-filtered, which we just don’t have the facilities for.”

“Tali’s brought nutrient paste with her, standard issue to all quarians on their Pilgrimages, from what I understand. Any way you can arrange a supply of that?” Shepard had asked.

The requisitions officer had shrugged. “Nutrient paste…should be doable, if I can find serial codes and suppliers. Though there’s also the matter of filters, decontaminants…” He’d laughed and shaken his head. “I tell you, all these special requirements, it’s like trying to keep exotic pets…”

That comment had struck a note with her. She’d had to nip that in the bud immediately. “These beings, officer, are sentient people who are great assets to the Alliance and to our mission,” she’d told him sharply, bringing him to order. “They deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, like any other members of our human crew. I’d like you to keep that in mind.”

He’d looked suitably chastised, stiffening to attention. “Yes, Commander. I apologize, Commander.”

Shepard had encountered that kind of sentiment before, and knew very well that it had to be put down _hard_ , before it could have time to take root and grow into something that drove a wedge between them. An “us and them” mentality could have disastrous consequences in any setting, and was something that wars were born from, if allowed to fester unchecked.

She put down her half-empty canister of coffee, rubbing a hand over her temples. It was imperative that she succeed in this mission against Saren; she had a responsibility, both to herself and to her crew – human and non-human alike – to turn their luck around. That disastrous first venture, in which they had lost not only young Jenkins and a fully-trained Spectre, but a _priceless_ _Prothean artifact_ as well, had been a significant blow, and not an ordeal she ever wanted to see repeated. This had to work out… _Somehow_ , it had to work out.

Shepard took a long drink and looked around at her private quarters, still unused to having this much space to herself. Being in command did have its upsides, she had to admit, even with the weight of responsibility it carried. Outside she had to keep a brave face on, but here she could relax a little, let down her guard a few notches.

Though she’d been in command for several weeks now, the cabin was relatively unchanged from how it had been when Anderson occupied it. One Alliance-issue blanket was crisply folded at the foot of her bed, perfectly made. Bunk inspections from her earliest cadet years had made neatness second nature to her, and she’d always quietly prided herself on that crisp corner tuck. It was strange to find herself at the top now, on this ship, after having spent so many years bunking with the rest of the grunts in cots or doing shifts in sleeping pods. This bed here was hers, twenty-four standard hours a day, and even had room to stretch her arms and legs out if military sleeping habit hadn’t already accustomed her to taking up as little room as possible when catching some rest. It was one hell of a luxury.

Elsewhere in the room, most of the surfaces were clear. There were very few personal effects out; being always on the move, and having grown up a Navy kid, she’d tried not to make a habit of collecting too much paraphernalia that would need packing away or risk getting lost. Even now that she had the space to put things, there was little that she actually had to put out on display. Everything she owned fit neatly into a standard footlocker – though admittedly, things of sentimental value did make it strain a little at the hinges after a time. Her biggest flaw was her soft heart, which through discipline and rigorous self-improvement she’d forcibly turned into a diplomatic asset. A good soldier had empathy and compassion, but was still practically-minded and could keep a cool and clear head. Impartiality was key, though it was a battle not to let it sway the balance away from kindness.

That diplomacy and the fighting prowess that backed it up had earned her a few medals, which were still packed away somewhere with her dress uniform. The most significant of these medals was one that lay somewhere at the bottom of her footlocker, still shut in a polished case and cushioned in a ceremonial Alliance flag. It was the reward and recognition awarded to her after the Skyllian Blitz, in which she had become a war hero without quite meaning to. She had been in the wrong place at the right time, there on Elysium during shore leave, and her desperate one-woman standoff against the seething, endless waves of Batarian attackers had only just been enough to seal the breach in the human colony’s defenses to hold out for reinforcements from the SSV Agincourt. To be awarded the Star of Terra was a huge honor, and still somewhat surreal. Nevertheless, that medal only came out for the dress uniform when formal occasion demanded it; otherwise, she kept the thing safely under wraps and out of sight. All talks of heroism and unparalleled bravery aside, in reality it had been a hard, terrible fight, on her own, scared out of her wits. She’d fully expected to die that day, and it had only been her stubborn sense of responsibility towards the unprepared civilian colonists that had kept her fighting even in the face of such hopeless odds. That battle could have gone very, _very_ differently, no matter her skills, training or resilience. Any reminders of that fight and the scars it had left upon her were therefore best kept safely tucked away.

A tiny Alliance ship model had come out of her locker, however, and now sat upon the desk by the wall, along with a little polished glass paperweight that looked like the Earth – a gift from her mother, many years ago. They seemed rather lonely and adrift amongst the minimalist neatness, but she wasn’t really one for interior decorating.

Beside them, a light was pulsing gently on the terminal. Shepard’s omni-tool had pinged her about a message on it not long ago, which was why she had retreated to her cabin. Having her own private terminal in her room was very useful too. As a Spectre, she needed that extra level of security; she knew she’d be dealing with classified and sensitive information on an entirely different scale. Not to mention the scrutiny she’d be under as the first human to be bestowed Spectre status…

Shepard sat down heavily, going through a few of her breathing exercises before accessing her messages.

* * *

The message, it had turned out, had been one from Rear Admiral Mikhailovich himself, of the 63rd Scout Flotilla. His surprise inspection of the Normandy – a ship that was no longer destined for his flotilla – had almost caught Shepard off-guard, given that they had come in to dock on the Citadel on such short notice. It had been a particularly ruthless, biased inspection; clearly his loss of the ship rankled with him strongly.

She hadn’t cared for the way he had given the Normandy such a disparaging look, right from the outset – she was a top-class ship, and one that she was beginning to consider her home. A perfect melding of human and turian engineering, a true forerunner in stealth combat technologies…and yet Mikhailovich had managed to find fault with every aspect of it. But Shepard was no stranger to inspections, nor to overly harsh inspectors; she was wise enough to know when to keep her personal feelings to herself and bring out the measured and rational answers. If the Rear Admiral had been looking for an argument, she hadn’t satisfied him with one. His questions had been met with entirely reasonable responses, not just to bring down his criticisms, but to persuade him to see for himself that the Normandy was not an overpriced, over-engineered gimmick – that she was the cutting edge of innovation, and the promise of what could be achieved through interspecies collaboration.

On the subject of interspecies collaboration, it had so happened that Shepard had had Lieutenant Alenko and Officer Vakarian ashore with her when Mikhailovich had sprung upon her by the bay doors.

If the Rear Admiral’s look upon the Normandy had been disapproving, she could take it. He had a right to voice his concerns over an Alliance ship under inspection, and to pick apart every detail that he found lacking. But what had really threatened to undermine Shepard’s level-headed, passive calm had been the downright withering look of reproach he had levelled at Garrus.

Her turian subordinate had been standing at perfect, silent attention behind her, ramrod-straight and staring straight ahead. Nothing about him had merited any animosity, but Mikhailovich’s brief, up-and-down appraisal of him over Shepard’s shoulder had held such cold disgust that one would have thought the man had been personally insulted in some way. He had not said anything about Garrus or to Garrus, aside from a barbed comment about the mixed crew, but the look in his eye clearly told her his opinion of aliens – and especially aliens of the turian variety.

While Shepard hadn’t known Vakarian for very long, from the few planetside missions they had worked through together she could already say that he had proven himself a real asset. His marksmanship was second to none, and he had a sharp mind to boot. Nothing she had seen of him had made him deserve Mikhailovich’s rudeness, or the blunt attitude he had towards turians. Garrus’ drive and motivation made him a valuable squadmate, even if his enthusiasm made him take a few hits during close-quarters fights. With a little more experience, this was a person who could excel, she was certain of it. She would follow his career with interest, once Saren and the strange business with the geth was dealt with.

Despite sorely wishing she could retort with some acidic responses, Shepard had not risen to Mikhailovich’s unfair diatribe, and had instead turned off all emotions to reason with him and not play into his provocation. It was never worth it to pick a fight with one's superiors, especially on such a delicate occasion. And her restraint had paid off in the end: once she had given him the solid facts, and calmly talked down all of his angry remarks, it had even appeared she had swayed him. That suspicion was now confirmed by the message she had just received from him: a grudging pass for the inspection in his report, and an admission that the Normandy was indeed a very fine ship. He'd even wished her luck, in the end.

She shook her head, shutting off the terminal. A bullet dodged, indeed; hopefully this would improve their standing with the Joint Military Council, now that the Rear Admiral had been appeased. That having been said, she’d not been happy with his attitude during the inspection. However courteously and professionally she had answered Mikhailovich, she had still made a point of taking Garrus aside afterward, once they had returned on board with Kaidan.

It had been a collective sigh of relief for all of them. “Damn. What an insufferable asshole,” Garrus had muttered under his breath, colorful as always. “He was really out to pick a fight. I don’t know how you managed to be so diplomatic with him, Shepard, but I’m impressed. Who does he think he is?”

That was when she had let him know, plainly and honestly, that her measured responses to the man did not mean that she agreed with his questions in any way, and that Garrus was an important part of the crew, along with all of the other non-humans on board.

“I can’t speak out against him, as my superior,” she’d told him levelly. “But I want to make it clear: I don’t share any of his opinions on mixed crews or mixed ships. The galaxy needs interspecies cooperation, whatever might have happened in history, and you are a valued member of my team. Remember that. While I'm in command, you always have a place on the Normandy, and I’m only going to judge you on your merits.”

She hadn’t quite been able to read the expression on his face, nor what the lateral stir of his mandibles meant, but his voice had been soft when he had said: “…Thanks, Commander.”

He had seemed rather humbled by what she had said; she was glad she’d managed to set the record straight. There was nothing worse than feeling out of place on a military vessel…she remembered well from her own personal experience, decades ago as a young woman barely into adulthood, determined to fit in with her predominantly male squad. She’d have given anything to truly be one of the guys, to not have to endure any reminders of how she and the handful of other female cadets were different…but she’d found her place, eventually, and had learned how to not draw attention to herself. It had been her physical prowess at boot camp that had finally earned her that respect in their eyes, and ever since then, her squad had barely even thought of her as a woman. For better or worse.

The intercom pinged, interrupting her thoughts.

“ _Commander? We’re just entering the Hydra system. ETA is four hours._ ”

“Copy that, Joker.” Shepard stood from her seat, stretching. Time to get ready for action again; they had set a course for Metgos following a distress call from a downed ship, which they'd received upon entering the cluster. Dr Chakwas had already started making accommodations in the medbay for any casualties they might pick up, though Navigator Pressly had sounded dubious of whether they would find many survivors. The Argos Rho cluster was a notorious hunting ground for pirates and other outlaw factions taking advantage of the lack of much military presence. Any ship brought down here, and on a Level 2 Hazard planet, on top of that, had very slim chances of having its crew recovered before some misfortune befell them.

However, Shepard wasn’t letting this one go. As a well-equipped Alliance ship, the Normandy could swing down and make a pass easily, and a little reconnaissance from the safety of the Mako would determine once and for all whether the rescue party was needed or not. If it turned out that they had been too late, or that none had survived aboard the ship, then they would just need to disable the distress beacon and send a report to the Alliance, along with coordinates for a salvage team to recuperate any materials or remains. The Sacred Angel had been a medical ship, and there was likely to be a lot on board that could be picked up for use elsewhere…that is, unless pirates had gotten to it first.

Shepard rolled her neck. She’d already planned out their approach, her squad, their loadout. Wrex was going to be coming with her. In tough conditions, and in any fight, a krogan was a very useful ally to have…and not just because the sight of him intimidated some enemies into running. As for her other teammate, Garrus was the ideal choice. They needed a sniper’s eye at their back, looking for signs of life or danger. He’d also proven himself very capable with the cannon on the Mako, though it wasn’t much of a surprise, considering how he spent almost all of his time tinkering over that thing down in Engineering. In fact, he was likely down there right now, doing some last-minute checks on the computer system.

Maybe she’d pay him a visit. It wouldn’t hurt to have an informal pre-briefing, see how he was getting on.

Shepard straightened her uniform, squared her shoulders, and stepped out of her cabin.


	2. Going in Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus has problems with Alliance showers. Wrex learns how to cook a turian. Shepard prepares the squad for a hazardous landing.

_“I’ve started showering early. You ever been around when the turian walks in? He really has a way of making a guy shrink up, if you know what I mean.”_

_“Oh-ho yeah. There’s nothing like the sound of four-inch talons on metal flooring to get your ass into gear in the morning. Hardly even need a coffee after that.”_

_“Right? Hah. Never thought I’d be sharing a shower room with an alien. But I don’t get it…one time I saw him without the towel, and he didn’t even have anything going on down there. It was all just ridges and plates. From the way their kind swagger you’d think they were packing like nobody’s business.”_

_“Nah, they do have them. They’re just internal, I heard. They pop ‘em out whenever they, uh…gotta_ use _‘em. Could be three feet long for all you’d know.”_

_“Internal?” An intrigued, slightly mystified pause. “What, balls too?”_

_“Yeah. All under those plates somewhere. Lorensen found out the hard way when he tried to kick one in the happy sacks at a bar scuffle once on shore leave. Broke two metatarsals instead and got discharged. But I think he just missed and was too ashamed to admit it.”_

_A navigator cleared her throat behind them. “Uh, gentlemen? The coordinates?”_

_“Oh, right. Sorry.”_

* * *

The CIC was a quiet bustle of activity as Shepard passed through. Pressly and the navigation team were busy crunching some numbers on one of the screens, faces bathed in the soft orange glow of the haptic keyboard, and on the other side of the bridge preparations were being made for the Normandy’s eventual approach of Metgos. Everyone was intent on the trajectory of the ship, discussing orbital paths and the positions of the planets in the Hydra system in low voices.

In the dim ambient light, moving around the outer walkway, she still half expected to see Nihlus stalking the shadows, perusing the charts and making the technicians nervous. It really hadn’t been all that long ago that he’d been with them, even though so much had happened between then and now.

Poor Nihlus…Pressly had had his reservations about him back then, but in truth they’d all barely known the man. There was no way to make any true judgement of him, not now. He’d just been a shadow aboard the Normandy, a gaunt and watchful face behind Shepard, always happening to be in the same room as her. She'd never overtly noticed him following her or staring, but there had always been the prevailing sense that she was being watched, even when his back was apparently turned. In conversation, he’d had a cool and calm authority about him, and she could only imagine what he would have been like in action…but of course, there had never been the chance to witness that. He’d ended up gunned down in cold blood instead, off his guard, by someone he trusted – his own _mentor_ , no less. An ignominious way to go. Hadn't stood a chance. Someone like him should have gone out in a blaze of glory, not…alone and face-down on a tame colony planet, with a bullet in the head.

Even though she knew better, Shepard couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for Nihlus’ death; after all, he had been there to assess _her_ , and it had been her mission. If only she'd been quicker, gotten there faster…maybe she, Kaidan and Ashley could have stopped Saren, or at least bought their Spectre some time. She suppressed a sigh, heading for the far end of the bridge. These thoughts had run through her mind far too many times already, even though the practical side of her reminded her that there was no good in dwelling on things she couldn’t change. _Guilt will only hold a person back; acceptance and correction is the way forward_ , as her philosophy books said.

Perhaps that was why she was so concerned with Garrus; she felt like she needed to do right by him, to make sure things worked out this time around. She didn’t want to become the human commander who had lost two aliens. Not that Vakarian needed any handholding; he was a force to be reckoned with in his own right when he had a rifle in his grip, and at close quarters she’s seen him bat a merc right across a room with the butt of his gun when he'd gotten too near. His credentials had been impressive. With the level of military training he had drilled into him, the guy could handle himself with ease, and fought every bit as hard as the krogan, Wrex.

Of course, having Wrex and Garrus down in the Engineering bay had also been a point of contention among many of her superiors – the exacting Rear Admiral included. With so many sensitive systems held on the lower level, the presence of aliens didn’t sit well with a lot of people. But Shepard was confident about all of them – she had vetted them personally, after all, and fully accepted that she was responsible for them, just as she was responsible for the rest of her crew. They had all been committed to help in the mission, and therefore had as much a part to play in it as anyone else.

Admittedly, though, the screening procedures had been a nightmare for Wrex and Garrus, in spite of the latter’s vouched-for C-Sec tenure and decorated father. The Alliance Special Forces Security Committee would have had a field day. A krogan mercenary, and a turian cop? And both in the same space, too? On paper it was an accident waiting to happen, and would have been unthinkable on any other ship, no matter how much of an asset either of them were purported to be. The potential fallout could have been catastrophic. Fortunately, a Spectre could greenlight a lot of things that would have otherwise required months of clearing red tape, and, as a bonus, Wrex had given her his grudging oath that he wouldn’t start any fights while she was in command. Whether he stuck to his word remained to be seen…but she had the suspicion that Garrus could give as good as he got, and that there’d be no serious trouble between them. They knew how to behave, within reason.

A junior officer threw her a salute as she passed him in the doorway, entering the gentle camber of the stairwell leading down to the lift. On her descent down to the lowest floor, Shepard reflected on how everyone seemed to have warmed to Garrus down in Engineering, just as Chief Engineer Adams had vouched for the eager young quarian, Tali. Having their individual experience and expertise at their disposal had helped immensely; the drive core had many new optimizations, and Shepard had noticed the Mako performing far better under Vakarian’s careful ministrations. Whatever he and the chief mechanics were doing with it, they were doing it well, and as far as she was concerned he could stay with it all day, if that was what he wished.

* * *

The track lights were aglow along the floor when Shepard entered the lower bay, illuminating the Mako’s rugged bulk up ahead. This was Garrus’ preferred domain – clanking about under the suspension, or nimbly perched up on the squat turret on top where he could get at the electronics under the hatch.

It turned out, however, that right now Shepard’s assumption on Garrus’ whereabouts had been wrong: the Mako stood alone, already having been moved to its dedicated deployment track just in front of the airlock. There was no sign of Vakarian, although the tidy toolcase and stack of manuals by the diagnostics terminal indicated that he had been here recently. She did a brief round tour of the bay and the storage area, checking the lockers…but no, his gear was neatly prepped there, and he himself wasn’t anywhere near it. Where could he have gotten to?

She met one of Adams’ men by the passage to the drive core, heading for the engine room.

“Pearson – any idea where Garrus might be?” she asked him. “I’d thought he’d be down here with the Mako.” She gestured with a thumb over her shoulder at the tank, conspicuously unattended by its usual companion.

“You’d have been correct about an hour ago, ma’am,” Pearson said, hands smartly clasped behind his back. “I think he went up to the mess hall to fix himself one of his MREs. Should be back soon, he’s never away for very long.”

Shepard frowned. “The day crew already came back from their break. He wasn’t up there with them?

“I think he gets carried away with his work. Gets single-minded, in the zone. Though…I guess he does keep to himself in the canteen.”

“Any reason for that?”

Pearson gave a half-shrug. “I couldn’t really say, Commander. My best guess is that maybe he’s not used to being surrounded by humans. You know how it is, being the new guy, not knowing anyone. Not easy even when you're the same species. He and the other aliens are kinda outnumbered, and they’re too different from each other to be best buddies just yet. But there’s nothing against him among us down here,” he hastened to add. “We think he’s great. He’s a quick learner, and a dab hand at fine-tuning the guns…Turians really do have top-class training. He’s made our jobs a hell of a lot easier, even if on a regular ship he wouldn’t have been let anywhere near Alliance equipment. Anyone who thought he was gonna be another Nihlus was wrong.”

Shepard had to agree with him, privately. Garrus and Nihlus were worlds apart; this was probably what made the others warm to him more easily. He didn’t have the cold gravitas, or the calculating demeanor that his predecessor had had. Still, the mere fact that he _looked_ like Nihlus on a superficial level to some made things difficult. Those who had trembled at the turian Spectre’s every passage and regarded him with distrust seemed to reflect a little of that onto Garrus. She sincerely hoped that they would come round eventually, and learn not to grow tense at the sight of him. Humanity was part of an intergalactic community now; it was crucial that acceptance of others should take the forefront of their priorities. How else would they, in turn, be accepted?

“Oh!” Pearson pointed over her shoulder. “Told you he wouldn’t be gone long. I can see him by the lockers now, just come out of the lift. Good thing he’s so tall, huh? Can’t miss the guy.”

Shepard turned, and sure enough, there was a familiar angular figure strolling around the equipment storage area. Finally! She gave the engineer a grateful nod. “Thanks, Pearson. I’ll let you get back to work.”

* * *

Garrus was hefting up one of the guns in his loadout as Shepard approached him, checking it over and turning it about to examine it from all angles. He was always something of an incongruous sight on the ship – all bony edges, waspish waist, back-jointed legs. But it was a sight that was slowly becoming familiar to her, just like Wrex’s characteristic bulk far off in his corner of the storage bay. Those crates just wouldn’t look right if they weren’t groaning under a seated krogan any more.

Vakarian was turned slightly away, absorbed in his routine checks. Somehow his rifle looked weightless in the grip of his three-fingered hands, which clearly knew their way around it, checking over all the catches and sliding mechanisms back and forth experimentally. Its barrel gleamed with a well-kept shine, good as new, and she could see from where she stood that the lens in the scope was crystal-clear. A well-maintained weapon was a sign of an organized, committed soldier, and one she could always appreciate.

Shepard crossed her arms, nodding in approval. “Prepped and ready, I see.”

“Commander.” Garrus jumped, taken by surprise, stopping what he was doing and hurriedly standing up straight to his full seven feet, rifle down at his side – force of habit, clearly.

She smiled at the excessive rigidity of his stance. “At ease, Garrus. Just thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing before the briefing.”

He relaxed by about two degrees, looking down at his tidy stack of armor pieces. “I’m all set. Just doing a few last checks on the gear…more for extra security, really. I already checked it over once this morning.” He nodded his chin at his locker beside him. “As soon as you need me I’ll be up in the comms room.”

She was about to ask him about the gun when something caught her eye at the back of his neck as he turned, right on the edge of his plates.

“Garrus? You’ve, uh, got something right there,” she told him, indicating the back of her neck.

His hand jumped up to the spot in question, and his talons came away with a flaky, pale residue.

A sigh hissed from him. “Damn it,” he grumbled, clearly embarrassed. “Not again…”

Shepard didn’t know much about turian skin, but whatever that was, she didn’t want him to get self-conscious about it. “You know, Dr Chakwas doesn’t just treat humans, and the Medbay has a full medical database if there’s anything you need checked out,” she informed him helpfully, but Garrus’ mandibles instead splayed out with a bashful half-laugh, half-cough.

“Ah…that won’t be necessary, Shepard. It’s, uh…it’s just soap,” he explained, and held out his hand. Now she could see it clearly; little flakes of Alliance-standard soap cake, unscented, antibacterial and hypoallergenic, all over his glove. It baffled her. She felt a flustered blush at her collar, hoping she hadn’t offended him, but he only seemed a little abashed. “Those little damn cakes get grated up so easily, and I spend half my time trying to dig all the bits out. Another reason I shower last; gives the rest of the guys a chance to use the soap before I turn it to confetti.”

“There are…other reasons you shower last?” she asked cautiously.

Garrus averted his eyes. “To...put it politely, humans are a lot more vulnerable out of their gear. I’ve noticed they hurry up when I walk in. Nothing personal, obviously, more just…instinct, I guess. A guy with talons and spurs shows up, they give him space _. Lots of it_.” He gave a rolling laugh, dusting his glove off.

Shepard tried not to imagine the differences between a naked turian and a naked human, but was nonetheless confronted with a mental image that involved lots of sharp angles, plates and talons. She cleared her throat, carefully scrubbing that particular visual from her mind’s eye.

“So how _do_ turians keep clean on a turian vessel, then?” Shepard asked. “I’d assumed soap was universal. It’s not something I would have thought would create any issues.”

“Oh, it is, just not in that form,” he answered easily. “We scrub ourselves down with abrasives – a kind of sandy cleaning agent that gets in all the surfaces of our plates and hide. Then we just hose it off and, if we need to, scour everything down with a hard brush.”

Shepard raised her eyebrows. “That does seem a lot more efficient. I hadn’t been aware of our different customs. I’ll speak to the requisitions officer, see if we can get in a supply from somewhere – if it’s standard in the turian military, it shouldn’t be too hard to secure.”

Garrus looked surprised. “Shepard, I…appreciate the thought, but I’m sure I can survive with cake soap like the rest of the crew. You’re already going out of your way with the dextro rations, and those extra filters for Tali…”

“All my crew need to be fed and clean,” she said, businesslike. “It’s a baseline requirement for a working vessel, and I want to make sure non-human crew members are provided for. As a Spectre I also have access to a lot more than I would as a regular Alliance Commander, so I can use this as an exercise in using those new connections. And besides…I can’t give our krogan friend anything to tease you about. Though I’m sure he’ll find a way, regardless.”

“That’s...uh. That's very kind of you, Commander,” he replied, taken a little off-balance, but polite anyway. “I understand you have responsibilities. But I don’t want to be an inconvenience all the same – as big of a change as this is to regular Citadel life, I want you to know I can go without a few creature comforts. I’ve been in military service since I was fifteen, after all. No stranger to making do with a quick rubdown with a washcloth.” He cleared his throat.

Shepard stifled a smile. “I see. And apart from the lifestyle change, are you settling in alright here?”

“The Normandy has many qualities that remind me of turian ships; I’m right at home,” Garrus assured her, just a little stiff.

“All the same, I’m noticing a bit of a pattern,” Shepard told him shrewdly. “You say you use the showers last, and I’ve heard you use the mess hall last, too…is there something I need to know about? Anyone giving you trouble?”

Garrus’ mandibles twitched. He seemed briefly taken aback, and then a little sheepish. She never would have expected him to be shy, if that’s what it was. Cautious, rather. Though that’s not what she heard he’d been like in his former role at C-Sec – a real hothead, relentless and determined. Was something going on?

“No, no. I, uh…I just thought it best to keep to myself during mealtimes. Didn’t know how many of your crew have ever seen a turian eat. Anything with twice the teeth and jaws as anyone else might put the rest of the men off their food…Some of that dextro hardtack really needs ripping into. So.”

Was that it? Shepard shook her head, snorting. “Garrus, these are military professionals,” she assured him. “Nobody’s squeamish around here. And if they are, then it’s hardly going to be over a guy eating his breakfast.”

Nevertheless, Garrus didn’t budge. “Turians and the human military have…history,” he said carefully, not looking at her. She could sense the unease in him.

More seriously, she told him in a low voice: “Listen. If anyone gives you a hard time, Garrus, you let me know. I’ve said the same to Liara, Wrex and Tali: we don’t tolerate that kind of thing on this ship, and any grievances you have will be treated anonymously.”

He bowed his crested head. “There’s no need for concern, Commander. I just prefer to keep my head down and let my skills in the field do the talking.” He gestured at the rifle. “That’s always worked in my favor.”

There was something they shared, it seemed. “A man after my own heart.” She looked down at the weapon on his arm. “Is that the Haliat we picked up last mission?”

He relaxed a little; guns were one interest she knew they both had in common.

“Yeah – great find, Shepard. Not to trash on your standard Alliance issue Hahne-Kedar stock, but even with those stabilizers the Equalizer line can do so much more damage. Fires off a few more rounds on each heatsink, too." A pensive, wistful look came to his eye. "I just want to see if its range really is as good as I’ve heard it is…”

“Hopefully you won’t end up having to use it," Shepard said. "We’re on recon this time around, though we’re going in with a standard loadout. That distress signal probably means we’ll be digging through wreckage, not engaging any hostiles.”

He shook his head slowly, leaning a sharp elbow against his locker. “So I heard. Something must’ve gone horribly wrong, for a medship to crash like that,” he remarked. “Those things are built to take serious damage. They’re floating safe zones; you could launch a nuclear payload at it and it would still keep its systems going. With all that life support to take care of, it's gotta be a robust vessel.”

“This was definitely coming from somewhere planetside,” Shepard said grimly. “Well, I guess we’ll know more once we’re out there…it’s about time I head over to Pressly before we arrive.”

Garrus nodded, standing up a little straighter again; back in mission mode. “Just let me know when you want me in the comms room for the final briefing, I’ll be right up.”

“Of course. And Garrus? Don’t wrap up too warm. It’s gonna be a hot one.”

His head bowed. “No problems here. I can take a little heat.”

* * *

“A little heat” may have been something of an underestimation on Garrus’ part; Shepard looked over the displays in the bridge, and the first thing she noted was the thermal map. Parts of the planet were off the scale, but most of it was solidly red and white.

“Here we are, Commander,” Pressly said, bringing up an overlay of the Normandy and its projected path. “Joker tells me we’re moving to a steady orbit. We’re very fortunate that the downed ship landed where it did; Metgos has very high volcanic activity, and the beacon seems to be located outside the pyroclastic zones. That said, standard galactic hazard classification has this planet down as a Level 2 zone, which is to say dangerous to most life. I would advise any extravehicular activity to be brief – your exosuits will only sustain you for a couple of minutes on the surface, under normal conditions.”

“What kind of temperatures are we looking at?” Shepard asked grimly, crossing her arms and watching the little orange dot moving on the holographic display.

“We’re getting surface readings of around 169°C at the planned drop point.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Wow. That’s definitely gonna complicate things.”

“Adams can confirm that the Mako will keep you secure in much higher temperatures, if you proceed with caution. Your terrain map of the surrounding area should indicate a passage between mountains, which will lead you to the debris field. You may have to navigate around larger pieces of wreckage to get to the main signal source.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem; we’ve got six wheels to take us over anything if we need to, and enough power in the jump-jets to get us that extra bit of clearance.”

He gave her a nod. “Of course. But one more thing, Commander," he warned. "Be very wary of the gaseous exhausts in the ground. We’re picking up high quantities of sulfur and oxygen compounds. The air is very flammable, so firepower ought to be kept to a minimum. Use the Mako’s main gun if you must, but only sparingly. The mass accelerator cannon should be safer, though God willing you won’t need it.”

“Understood. Thanks, Pressly, I’ll fill in the ground squad.”

Shepard left him and the navigation team to their final preparations. She had already been up to take her first look at Metgos from the viewport at Joker’s station up front; what she’d seen had been a vast horizon of seething cloud that the Normandy surfed over silently, the highest strata lit in amber like the crests of a turbulent sea. The sun’s blazing heat was trapped by those clouds, keeping it in, feeding into the searing temperatures blasted forth by the volcanoes beneath.

High up here, though, in the safe cold of space, it looked beautiful. Hydra illuminated Metgos’s atmosphere in a scarlet rim, brilliant as a ruby, turning to fiery orange over the tops of that heavy blanket of cloud. That was where they would be descending, soon, hurtling down in the metal hull of the Mako…though it surely would not be as fearsome a fall as the one the Sacred Angel had endured, crashing down through that boiling air to an unknown fate. Shepard took a deep breath. She sincerely hoped their life support had held out; the sooner she and her team could get to them, the better. Whatever lay down there, they’d do their best to secure it.

* * *

In the meeting room Shepard mapped out their planned route for Garrus and Wrex; they would stay close to the mountains, making their way through a small valley to access the crash site, keeping a steady course for the beacon’s coordinates. She’d let them know about the conditions in more detail, and of the various hazards the terrain might present.

Garrus was rubbing his chin with a talon as he listened, mandibles tight. “Hundred and sixty-nine degrees, you said? Is there even any chance of finding survivors? If they’re mostly human, they’d probably have cooked alive by now. Even turians don’t last long in anything much above seventy.”

Wrex grunted from his seat. “Heh. Is that on a grill or a convection oven?”

“Wrex…” Shepard shot him a warning look.

“Sorry, Shepard.”

Turning back to Garrus, she answered him: “The medship may have advanced life support facilities that could have made it to the surface. But if there are no signs of life aboard, we’ll just make an official disaster report and tag the location for a salvage team. Any remains will be noted for later ID, but we won’t hang around there long. No sense in putting a strain on our own systems, under those conditions.”

She brought up a blueprint of a standard medship of a similar class to the Sacred Angel, with a few areas highlighted. “We should be able to find entry points on any side of the ship, regardless of its orientation. If we find it completely intact, we’ll need you, Wrex, to help us crank open some of the bay doors, or shift emergency access panels. From there, corridors should lead to the main holding wings, with the control room at the aft. Once we’ve swept the life support core and any modules, we can make our way to the signal source and pull the switch on it. Any questions?”

Wrex gave a rumble. “I’m inclined to agree with the turian, much as it pains me. I don’t think this thing’s gonna be in one piece. Ship like that could’ve left a debris trail stretching for miles.”

“It’s hard to say what state it’s in from up here,” she assented. “But in an emergency, personnel would have evacuated patients to this area behind these blast doors,” she pointed up at the blueprints, “which happen to be close to the control center where the signal is coming from. Even if atmospheric entry broke the ship apart, that life support core shouldn’t be far from our beacon.”

He gave a grudging nod. “I guess we’ll see once we get down there. I hope you’re turning the AC up in the Mako - for your sake, not mine. That's just a pleasant spring in Tuchanka down there.”

“I'm sure it is,” Shepard gave him a wry look. “Alright. Report to the launch bay in one hour; I'll let Joker know to start on final preparations.”

Garrus stood too, long limbs unfolding as he stretched. “Going in hot?” he asked, anticipation already lighting his eyes.

Shepard grimaced up at the display, thinking of the vast lava plains beneath them, and their imminent plunge into those flame-red clouds.

“...You could say that."


	3. Planetfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard, Wrex and Garrus land on Metgos...and encounter a bit of trouble.

_“Say, you’ve been keeping an eye on those aliens down below, right, Williams? Turian give you any grief?”_

_“No, he stays out of my way. Thank God. Never brought up the family name. But just seeing him every day is enough to put me on edge…it’s the way he_ moves _. I just…don’t like the way they stalk around on those weird legs. Not something I ever thought I’d see on an Alliance Navy ship. How can anyone even tell what they’re thinking? They’re all just teeth and plates and crazy mouth-parts.”_

_“Oh, that’s nothing. You should have seen the one we had on board before him. That one had even more tattoos, and he had this way of looking at you that just…I don’t know. Made you feel like you were some tiny bug he was studying. Like he was weighing up everything you did, but it didn’t even matter to him because you weren’t important enough anyway. Heard it was another turian that killed him in the end – his own mentor, apparently.”_

_Ashley shook her head. “That’s just what I mean. They’re literally inhuman. Kaidan thinks they’re OK, but he’s a big softie if you ask me. He's not had history hanging over his head his entire life."_

_“Yeah…Is everyone forgetting half the crew have living relatives who fought these guys? Hell, some of the older fellas even saw squadmates killed. My pa lost a few brothers in the fighting on Shanxi. Are we sure we can trust this one?”_

_“That’s just it. Kaidan said Vakarian got in trouble at C-Sec for being a hothead. And the first time I saw the guy, he was even getting dressed down by his boss. There is absolutely no guarantee he’s gonna play nice with us. Shepard’s making a big mistake.”_

* * *

Drop time was approaching, and Shepard had just finished making the final adjustments to her gear outside her locker. All the seals on her suit were triple-checked for integrity, the reinforced plating buckled on, and her magnetized holster firmly strapped in place on her back. This was it. Soon they’d be planetside, venturing thousands of miles below the safety of the Normandy, and scouting out over unknown, hazardous terrain… A mission such as this was nothing out of the ordinary for her, nor for her squadmates, but nevertheless the run up to a pass always seemed to last an eternity.

In those final few minutes before it was time to deploy, she preferred to breathe a little, clear her mind, get in the zone. The interviewers that had hounded her after the victory on Elysium had often asked her how an N7 soldier prepared for a drop. Some might have said that going over the mission again and again would have them hit the ground running, but time and experience had taught Shepard that there really was no single way to prepare. Preparation was in itself a _luxury_. Things went wrong, things took unexpected directions. Eden Prime was a chilling, textbook example of that; nothing was ever easy.

Even on a possible zero-contact, simple pickup run with only environmental hazards to contend with, Shepard still got the usual nerves. War hero, N7, Commander…none of these titles and accreditations meant that she was a perfect, invulnerable tactical machine. A lot of people seemed to have that impression of her, and it was entirely mistaken. Even after all she’d fought through, she was still capable of getting nervous.

But nerves were _good_. Nerves were what kept you alive, when a situation went south and you needed to think fast. Better to have a few butterflies than to go in complacent, bound by a rigid plan, only to find yourself short on adrenaline when it would have really come in handy. That was a point that Anderson had always agreed upon with her, when she’d talked tactics with him in the past. They still kept in touch even now, and she always valued his input. It mattered little that she was a Star of Terra recipient; she knew she still had things to learn, and he always gave good, measured advice. He had many more years on her, and all the experience that went with that - including experience with mixed-species teams. In spite of having served during the First Contact War, he had always spoken highly of turians and their tactics. Perhaps being out in the field with Garrus would lend her some insight too…though hopefully it wouldn’t be today.

Shepard’s boots clacked smartly against the floor as she made her way down towards the launch bay, now fully outfitted in her Hahne-Kedar armor, helmet tucked firmly under her arm. Kaidan threw her a salute on her way past, as did the other crew members at the lift, many heads turning as she went by. Everyone could get caught up in that same pre-mission energy, seeing their Commander fully kitted out, and being part of the last-minute bustle of preparations on the CIC. That was a part of the run-up to a mission that she could enjoy – feeling that restless energy, contagious throughout the ship, every part of the team working together like a well-oiled machine. And once she was properly geared up, she felt limber and ready for anything – even for the long fall in the Mako that awaited her.

* * *

Halfway to the launch bay, the munitions were laid out ready for her, courtesy of Gunnery Chief Williams: the pistol, freshly serviced, and an Avenger assault rifle for any scenario in which a pistol wouldn’t cut it. She’d decided to go in light, but pragmatic, with her choice of weapons – it was good to cover your bases and have a fallback. Shepard inspected both weapons automatically, crossing that off her mental checklist, and adjusted the maglocks on both before gathering up her ammo clips.

Not far off, on the other side of the Mako, she could hear Wrex teasing Garrus, who had been already waiting by their vehicle.

“Pre-mission nerves, turian?” she heard his gravelly voice rumble. “Aww. There, there.”

His squadmate wasn’t having it. “Not at _all_ ,” came Garrus’ smooth reply. “But it’s sweet of you to be so worried.”

Shepard shook her head. No matter how many ways she’d tried to discourage him, Wrex had always angled for any rise he could get out of Garrus. Not that his efforts had ever proved successful so far. It turned out that Vakarian could really hold his own against the krogan; that was likely a skill he’d picked up over the course of his C-Sec career.

Wrex let out a short laugh. “I just hope you’re ready for the long drop. I know how much you love falling out the Normandy, strapped to a tank. That the toy you’re takin’ along?”

There was the sound of metal sliding against metal. “Yeah. Haliat Equalizer. Nice upgrade after the old Punisher jammed; got some good mods on it now, too.” Maglocks clacked into place, one-two. “The damage on this thing is well worth the extra weight. Oh, and laugh all you want – you’ve not seen this thing fully extended.”

A snigger. “Wanna impress the boss lady, that it?” Wrex said, leer audible. Out of sight, Shepard rolled her eyes. “Bringin’ out your biggest rifle for a little day-trip rescue mission?”

“Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, you know what they say about turians and their senior officers…”

Shepard’s fingers slowed where they were counting the clips, her eyes narrowing. This conversation was headed towards some _very_ inadvisable places.

“Why is it you keep bringing that up? What do you _want_ from me?” snapped Garrus, obviously annoyed but trying to keep his voice down.

“ _I_ wanna hear you admit you have a thing for ladies in authority. I heard you plate-faces get all kinds of hot for your superiors.”

There was a splutter from Garrus. “She’s a _human_!” he hissed, subvocals strangled between his outrage and his efforts to stay quiet. “You’re gonna end up dumped on a planet somewhere for insubordination if you keep talking like that. And that’s a stupid stereotype, anyway.”

“You know, humans are turning out to be some of the randiest creatures in the galaxy, after asari maidens,” Wrex said smugly. “Heh! But who am I kidding…you bonebags don’t know how to have a good time.”

Garrus opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment Shepard loudly dropped her bag as she arrived beside them, getting their attention as effectively as an asteroid crashing through the hull.

“Commander!” Garrus instantly swung round to perfect attention, every limb locked, staring straight ahead.

“Vakarian… _Wrex_ …” Shepard greeted them, levelling a pointed look at the krogan. Unruffled, Wrex grinned back at her, giving a little shrug. The younger turian, on the other hand, looked deeply mortified, mandibles drawn up tight against his face. She decided that the best course of action was to simply act as though she’d not overheard any part of their conversation; she’d leave how unimpressed she was up to their imaginations.

Instead, business-like, she informed them: “We’re making our pass in five. Time to get in the Mako and buckle down for launch.”

“Roger that,” Wrex answered breezily, scooping up his own gear and making his way to the far-side door, teeth still bared in a grin.

* * *

“All set?” Shepard said briskly after their final instruments and comms check, tugging the harnesses on her seat.

“Affirmative,” Garrus sounded off behind her. She couldn't help but pick up on the stiffness in his attitude.

“Ready as ever,” Wrex grunted. In the close confines of the cab, his bulk took up a good half of the space available, while Garrus’ armored kneepads were practically at her elbow. The space here hadn’t really been designed with alien anatomies in mind – but fortunately, the Normandy had some very good mechanics on board.

The seats had been adjusted beforehand, giving Wrex a little more room from the dashboard, though with her current squad it came at the expense of a little of Garrus’ legroom. Turian limbs were longer than those of humans, and they’d puzzled long and hard over the rear seat configuration. However, Garrus had insisted he’d be fine folding himself in and hoping for the best. The harnesses would do the rest; they’d been modified, too, in a bid to accommodate Wrex and Garrus’ unique shapes.

With Garrus it had been a simple case of re-threading the restraints into a V to follow the naturally tapered lines of his body, whereas Wrex had had to sit down to be custom-fitted, with much grumbling and swearing on his part. It had taken three nervous technicians an hour to measure out the bands, and another to ponder over physics and weight distribution. Wrex’s requests to do away with it all and simply be stowed in the missile hold were duly ignored, on Shepard’s orders.

“Alliance Navy regulations don’t allow contractors to be stuffed in with ordnance,” she’d told him, and that had been that.

The engines roared to life, and Shepard keyed in the automated landing sequence, the displays lighting up, headlights illuminating the door of the launch bay airlock in front of them at the end of the short track.

Joker’s voice came in over the comms. “ _All ready to go, Commander._ _Launch bay is clear, and we're making the pass now. Releasing you in…10 seconds_.”

Searing orange light hit their faces as the launch doors slowly opened, bright even through the tinted windscreen, and the Mako’s gearstick pitched gently forward, wheels commencing their forward roll down the ramp into nothingness.

* * *

The first time Shepard done this with the pair of them, there had been an extensive briefing and a few training runs before their initial launch, as per standard procedures.

Wrex had been entirely unfazed the first time the Mako had rolled out of the Normandy into empty air. Garrus had also appeared to have kept his cool…until the maintenance team had later found six long talon-slices in the upholstery of his seat afterwards, each a good three inches deep. The krogan had teased him _mercilessly_ for that. Even now, there was always a grin on his face with every landing, despite the fact that Garrus had taken to keeping his hands conspicuously where he could see them.

For Shepard, this was all routine. She barely even felt the G-forces that acted upon them on their descent, focused instead upon the screens and readouts that glowed in front of her. Visibility was poor around them; the cloud bank was like a solid blanket, but the navigation instruments told them all they needed to know, mapping out the orientation of the vehicle and their rapidly-decreasing altitude.

Above them, the Normandy roared away out of sight, continuing its parabolic pass, its elegant silvery shape disappearing from view just as they entered the densest layer of cloud cover. Darkness enveloped the cab for a few short moments, revealing a glow of heat that was already flitting like a flame over the surface of the windshield. As always, Shepard was thankful for the thick glass and reinforced hull that stood between them and all of the deadly atmospheric forces that acted upon the falling Mako. It was looking as though they’d need the extra protection on the surface too; at these altitudes, ice should have been forming on the exterior surfaces, at least briefly. But instead, Hydra’s glaring rays superheated the atmosphere to higher temperatures than normal…something they would also have to contend with down below.

The primary jump-jets finally kicked in, gradually slowing their descent, and the Mako shifted a little as each jet compensated for the turbulent wind, buffeted by hot air currents. Clouds flickered away around them as they sank down from their heavy cover, and Shepard got her first glimpse of the surface of Metgos – every bit as inhospitable as Pressly had warned. Jagged mountains spread out below them, red-tinged with iron deposits; not that they’d be tagging any of this for mining. It was a wasteland of scorched plains, lit at the distant horizons by far-off volcanic eruptions.

Immediately below them, however, there was the relatively clear terrain upon which they landed, bordered by the walls of some great and ancient craters that pitted the ground.

“And we have touchdown!” Shepard announced as all six wheels hit the ground with a bump, suspension rocking their seats. “Nice one.” She leaned over to the comms. “Joker – we’re at the LZ. Beginning the scouting route, heading north-north-east towards objective.”

“ _Roger that, Commander_. _Holding at a steady orbit up here – keep us posted._ ”

* * *

Specks of ash drifted against the windshield, tumbling down the glass. Garrus had wrested himself free of his harness and was leaning forward between her and Wrex to get a better view at the planet’s surface, his sharp blue eyes rapt as a hawk’s.

“Just bare ground so far,” Shepard told him, squinting into the sulfur-yellow horizon where the clouds broke. They'd fired up the scanners, but nothing on them so far, apart from the steady blip of the Sacred Angel's transponder signal.

“I’ll get us eyes up top,” Garrus murmured. He stowed his seat and nimbly slid himself up into the turret, positioning himself behind the sights of the cannon to get a better look as they moved off.

“The transponder shouldn’t be too far from our position. See any signs of the wreckage from up there?” Shepard asked.

“Not yet. But getting a whole lot of heat, that’s for sure,” he said. “Good thing I calibrated the thermal readouts on my visor. This place makes Palaven look like an _ice planet_.”

“Huh. Reminds me of Tuchanka. Think it’s gonna rain?” quipped Wrex, looking up at the heavy clouds.

“My guess is a lot of that’s smoke and ash,” Shepard said grimly, the suspension jostling them as the Mako’s wheels negotiated an empty channel. The ground was barren, swept with ash, rock warped by ancient lava flows, and here and there rivulets of cooling magma still glowed under a crust of black.

The Mako’s huge wheels had no trouble getting traction on the coarse ground; soon they were going at a steady pace, tracing a careful path across the plain. Wrex was peering down at the navigational display with close attention, as though he expected hostiles – but this planet looked dead beneath its dark sky, with no trace of flora or fauna upon the bare and rocky ground. Shepard had the sinking feeling that their fears might be proved right; how could any survivors have made it, crash-landing in such an inhospitable environment?

A little later, Wrex gave a growl beside her. “Gettin’ something on the radar. Not a constant signal, but it’s flickering. Keeps disappearing.”

Shepard glanced over at the illuminated screen, easing up off the accelerator. “Well, it’s not likely to be a hardware fault – the whole system was serviced this morning.”

“Could be something cloaking,” Garrus said behind them, rotating the turret for a better view. “Survivors, maybe?”

Shepard pursed her lips. “They wouldn’t have much hope of surviving if they hid from their rescue party. We’ll keep an eye on that.”

Wrex sat up, lifting his head. “Got visuals on the wreck, two o’clock.”

Sure enough, the first pieces of the wreckage loomed ahead of them, just around a rocky outcrop, already heavily caked in ashfall. The chunks were barely recognizable as having been parts of a spacefaring vessel; the fall from the atmosphere had subjected them to violent forces and extreme heat, stripping away paneling and exposing the inner parts to the elements.

Great girders were bent, some partially melted into streaks by the heat of re-entry and the unforgiving atmosphere – but further in the distance, parts of the wreckage appeared to have remained more intact. Just before the ground dipped away down a hill, a towering shard of metal rose into the air, speared deep into the ground where it had been sheared off the rest of the ship and landed point-down. Upon it, barely visible, were traces of the faint red emblem of a medical vessel.

“That’s the Sacred Angel, all right,” Shepard said grimly.

“What’s left of it.” Wrex sounded dubious. “Doesn’t look very hopeful to me.”

But Shepard wasn’t dissuaded. “Well, we know there’s _something_ around here. Those blips on the radar confirm it. Let’s go in for a closer look.”

There was something very sobering about seeing such a large ship in pieces, half-buried in the ash, or scattered into fragments where it had hit the rocks. In the slim chance that there were still survivors inside that intact portion of the hull down in the valley, Shepard had every obligation to find them and secure them – or at the very least get the Normandy to call for a specialized evac team.

The radar blinked again.

“Something pinged us,” she murmured.

“Friendlies?”

“Hard to say. The cameras aren’t picking up any noticeable signs of life,” she said. “We need to find that entry point – might need to do a manual scan on that part of the hull by the cliffs. It could be coming from inside.”

* * *

Helmets sealed, breathing apparatus linked up, the three of them left the safety of the Mako for a short excursion towards the solid metal face of one of the hull sections. If there was any way to enter, their omni-tools would likely give them more information, and if necessary Wrex could batter down any vent or hatch that stood in their way.

Shepard’s boots hit compact, grainy rock, dusted in a thick layer of black soot that rose up with every footfall. The heat was _intense_. Even through the exosuit’s protective layering, and her own barriers, it was immediately palpable. Under the close, dark, stormy grey sky, the ground almost seemed to glow with its own retained heat, unaided by the sun. More soot tumbled silently past her visor, streaking her armor as they ventured closer to the hull.

“We’ve only got a couple of minutes,” Shepard warned Wrex and Garrus, though they seemed a little less deterred by the heat than she was. Not that their shields would care that they both hailed from warm planets themselves – once those were down, their suits would combust just as easily as hers.

They scanned the nearest metal face, but comparisons with the downloaded blueprints didn’t show any likely openings from this part of the ship. “Looks like the point of entry could be in the main life support deck, which should be by the transponder,” Shepard guessed, tapping away at her omni-tool. “It’s down in that valley, a few degrees north of us, if the spread of debris matches up.”

Garrus stalked ahead of her, face obscured by the mirrored black visor of his elongated helmet, but she could hear the tension in his voice when he murmured over the comms: “I don’t like this. I think we’re being watched.”

Shepard couldn’t deny that he had a point; after the strange readings on their radar, she’d felt a little on edge. There was something glinting amongst the twisted metal ribs of the ruin ahead of them, winking on the edge of her vision. Was it the heat warping the air that was making it seem to move like that? These temperatures were making it hard to concentrate, but it was looking as through white objects were shifting around the wreckage, barely visible –

“Geth!” roared Wrex suddenly, sweeping his shotgun automatically off his shoulder, moments before her omni-tool popped up a swarm of red on its holographic map. Shepard leapt for cover, just as the first volleys of pulse shots hissed their way. Geth? Here? Had they come to pick apart the ruin of this ship? She leveled her pistol at the advancing group, still a few hundred yards away but fanning out to engage them.

How were their shots not igniting the very air? Shepard glanced over her omni-tool readouts, checking the feed on their surroundings.

“No gas vents here,” she said, lowering her wrist and taking aim down her sights. “Clear to engage.”

Beside her, Garrus drew out his Haliat and had it assembled in two seconds flat, the long barrel smoothly sliding out in one movement as he raised it up to his eye, impressively quick. With a resounding crack he fired off a round, and Shepard saw a geth soldier fall limp in the distance, head exploding into shrapnel.

“So much for an easy recon run,” he growled, reloading. “The hell are they doing here?”

“Let’s get them off our asses before we start asking questions!” Wrex yelled, dodging a rifle pulse and loping his way into cover.

Shepard returned fire, trying to keep track of how many of them there were. Their metal parts were aglow with the heat of the planet, yet somehow they still appeared to function, clawed feet advancing them ever closer over the debris field. How long had they been here? Probably not for very long, considering the temperatures hadn't warped the metal in their bodies.

Shepard shot out the tapered heads of two more, but she could feel herself beginning to perspire, skin prickling uncomfortably under her suit, breathing a little harder than normal. If they let themselves get pinned or backed into a corner they’d be roasted alive – that is, if their weapons lasted that long.

Garrus let out a frustrated growl, a spent heatsink ejecting from his rifle already, falling to the ground with a tail of smoke. “We’re overheating out here!”

“Too hot for you?” Wrex shot back. “I could keep this up for hours!”

But something huge suddenly came looming over the verge, spiny legs glowing red-hot, crushing broken hull fragments beneath it where it stepped, spider-like. A geth armature reared its head, fixing them with its lambent stare, and the beam of a spotlight almost dazzled them. The fight had just fallen out of their favor; there was no way they could take that thing down on foot.

“Wrex! Garrus! Back to the Mako! Let’s go, let’s go!” Shepard yelled, and waved them back to the tank, ducking down to provide a few shots of covering fire before sprinting after them herself.

They piled in – Wrex struggled a bit with the high step, but Shepard gave him a shove – and Garrus took his place up behind the cannon while she kicked the engine back into gear.

Now they had much better firepower; Shepard saw the rest of the geth swept away like bugs the moment Garrus started shooting. The armature, however, returned fire in kind, sending missiles right at them. Shepard swerved out of their path; Wrex, not yet buckled in, swore colorfully as he was bounced against the door by the suspension. Short bursts of shots rang out from the turret until Garrus let up, calling down: “I can’t fire too often, the gun won’t take this heat. We have to make every shot count, Shepard.”

“Charge up the missiles!” she replied, yanking the wheel to negotiate around the debris. “Hit it hard – I’ll line us up.”

The armature spat forth another missile that sizzled through the air over the top of the front bonnet, only narrowly avoiding them this time. Their own heavy missiles would pack a punch, but with such a long recharge time in this heat, they could only be used sparingly – Garrus would have to get this perfectly right.

“Shepard, take us back a little! I can’t get a shot in this close!” he yelled from the turret, wrestling with the controls.

“Got it.” Shepard threw the massive wheels into reverse, pulling them backward, further away from the slow-moving armature.

“We’re locked on,” Wrex confirmed by the display. “Blast that thing!”

Their supercharged missile exploded from the turret, kickback from the cannon so strong it sent a shudder through the cab; fortunately, the auto-brakes stopped the impact from blasting them backwards.

“And _boom_!” Garrus cried as the missile hit its mark in a spectacular shower of combusting geth parts, scattering wires and metal all over the place. “Target’s down, Shepard!”

“Nice work.” As the smoke from the destroyed armature curled up to the sky, she finally sat back, releasing the breath she’d been holding. That had been a challenging fight, especially given that they'd walked right into the enemy. Of course there’d had to have been complications with this mission – it was a good thing they’d had the foresight to come armed after all.

"Big target," Wrex muttered dismissively, but was duly ignored.

Shepard brushed the black dust from her gloves. "We'll move off down to that valley, see what we can find there," she told them. "But keep a sharp eye out; we might find more company. Any more interference on the radar, we'll know who it is."

"Gonna be ready for them this time," Garrus affirmed, removing his helmet and rolling the tension from his neck.

As the Mako rumbled onward again, she couldn't help but turn over the same question in her mind: what had happened to all those on board the Sacred Angel? Could _anyone_ still be in that wreckage somewhere? But between the crash, the hostile planet, and the unexpected geth presence in the area, hopes for any survivors were dwindling rapidly.


	4. You Go Left, I Go Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team discovers the truth about what happened to the Sacred Angel, after a harrowing discovery and a close-quarters fight. Garrus almost goes rogue; Shepard has to put her foot down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: this whole story takes place after Garrus and Shepard have had the Saleon conversation, but he's not yet found out about the name-change (too busy doing his C-Sec paperwork, no doubt)

The Mako rolled its way down the incline of the valley, its six great wheels kicking up embers as the tires disturbed the topmost layer of hot ash upon the ground. Negotiating a path through the debris had them moving slowly, carefully, especially since there was no telling how unstable the wreckage might be. Any bump or sudden disturbance in the wrong place could cause a landslide at the impact site, which was the last thing they needed on an already delicate search and rescue run. Shepard kept her touch light on the steering, using the brakes and the Mako’s momentum to bring them down into the valley, where the largest sections of the hull had landed.

Negative contact here; the radar and Garrus’ sharp eye at the turret didn’t pick up any signs of geth activity around them, though they had most likely been through here. The armature had left great steely scratches in the volcanic rock where it had climbed the hill to engage them, but those were the only traces Shepard could see. Still, from experience, she knew to remain vigilant…there was no telling what might be hiding around the next corner, and neither scanners nor turian eyes were infallible.

“Think the geth brought down this ship?” Wrex grunted as they proceeded down a narrow corridor in the rubble, glowering around at the devastation around them.

Shepard pursed her lips, the same question having been in her mind, too. “Hard to say,” she replied honestly. “But it would have taken some very heavy firepower to bring down a ship of this size, and I’m not seeing any signs of blasting damage to the hull. Those bulkheads held up to a crash through the atmosphere, so I doubt a geth ship on its own could have pierced them.”

“Unless it took out the engines,” Wrex suggested, gesturing up to the craggy hill-face across the valley. A gigantic silvery turbine was embedded in the soot-dusted rock, blades shattered and bent. As a lifelong spacefarer, the sight sent a shiver of discomfort along Shepard’s spine. These things weren’t built to fail after a few hits. Lives depended on engineering such as this, and seeing a strong vessel in ruins planetside was especially harrowing.

She tightened her grip on the wheel.

“If they did, they couldn’t have hit them hard. That damage looks like it all came from the crash; the scan of the impact site we got from the Normandy didn’t seem to show a very wide spread of debris. We can probably safely say that the ship had at least enough maneuverability left to even out its dive.”

“That and the fact we aren’t in a giant crater right now, I guess.” His jaw jutted, deep in thought, and he shook his head again.

“There!” Garrus said suddenly, from his post behind them. “One o’clock – got a flashing light over by the biggest section starboard side. Could be an engaged airlock.”

Shepard’s gaze snapped around; she spotted it too. It was a faint red pulse, muted by the hazy air, but nevertheless a good sign. A way in?

“Looks like that could be our access point,” she said, briskly turning the wheel to bear them right. “I’ll bring us in as close as I can.”

* * *

The air was hazy, wavering, trapping the light in layers – but the steady blinking of the red light still showed their way. Again the oppressive heat insidiously ate at their life support, though at this lower elevation their defenses were holding up a little better. Nevertheless, the rippling and distortion Shepard could see around them didn’t bode well.

“This is a gas sink for sure. Ship must've disturbed some vents underground when it came down,” Wrex growled, having noticed it too. “I hope that was the last of the geth back there. No telling how combustible any of this could be.”

“We’ll have to take extra care,” Shepard agreed, looking up at the hatch in front of them. It was connected to a large, sprawling section of the vessel, stretching so far its end mounted the opposite hill of the small valley. This would have to be their entry point; conditions didn’t lend themselves well to scouting out easier access on foot, and the Mako would struggle with the spurs of twisted metal strewn before it.

Wrex made short work of the manual wheel to open it, but when the three of them ducked inside, all was dim, lit only by an isolated emergency strip. Unpowered…

“Control panel over here,” Garrus remarked, bending down to it. He ran a gloved hand over the switches – manual, somewhat archaic – and then opened his omni-tool to do a quick scan, carefully examining it. “Hmm. Power’s been knocked out here, probably to preserve the life support inside. I might be able to jump-start it remotely – should give us just enough to get us through the airlock without depressurizing the whole section.”

Shepard cocked her head. “I think explosive decompression is the last thing we need right now,” she said.

Garrus’ fingers tapped at his omni-tool, trying to line up a readout of some complex schematics, and then flipping a few switches experimentally. Nothing. She heard him give an exasperated sigh over the comms.

“Damn. I’m not quite up to scratch on this outdated human tech. Uh – no offense, Commander." He sat back on his haunches. “It looks like it’s jammed. If there was a way to redistribute a little power from the main grid…”

“Well, remember we have an expert in tech and environmental safety up on the Normandy,” Shepard told him. “Someone who could probably give us some advice right about now.” Looking down, she opened her external comms line, hailing the ship in orbit far above them. “Normandy, this is ground team. Do you copy?”

Barely a beat before Joker answered. “ _Loud and clear, Commander. What’s up?_ ”

Anyone would think he was making a social call. Shepard tactfully pressed on.

“We need a consultation on some tech. Can you get Tali’Zorah on the commlink?” she asked. “Got a few questions for her.”

“ _Sure thing, Commander. Putting you through ASAP._ ”

The line went silent for a few moments, then a voice doubly distorted through space-to-surface comms and an environmental suit came on. “ _Shepard? What do you need?_ ”

Tali sounded a little nervous – she’d probably been caught unawares, not having expected to be needed by the ground crew. But Shepard knew she had a good head on her shoulders, and was their best chance at cracking this problem.

“Got a little tech puzzle for you, around an airlock and an old control panel,” she told the quarian. “Garrus…you go ahead and explain.” Better to leave the electronics talk to the experts.

Her decision was sound; the technical details Garrus went into were beyond her modest understanding, but to Tali they fortunately seemed to make perfect sense. It didn’t take her long to get her self-assurance back and begin to bounce ideas back at Garrus, who was now nodding and working even quicker over the control panel.

“ _…and if_ that _doesn’t work, slap some omni-gel on it as an insulator and then try it_ ,” Tali rattled off confidently.

“Got it!” Garrus said, triumphant as a trickle of power came back to the panel, lighting up a few of the switches. Wrex gave a groan of relief, having been impatiently toying with his shotgun as though weighing up the benefits of just shooting the inner door open. Now it looked as though that wouldn’t be necessary; Shepard thanked Tali warmly and closed the comms link again, just as the re-pressurizing systems whirred into life.

“Should be good to go, now.” Garrus straightened up, just before the hatch shut behind them with a dreadful groaning, plunging them into a close darkness; only the light of the panel and his omni-tool were still visible. “Huh. Though I guess there was nothing to spare for the lights.”

“We can manage.“ Shepard twisted her suit flashlight on. It cast a band of light across the airlock; smoke and ash still curled through the air from Metgos’ harsh environment, coiling in the beam from her breastplate.

A light pressure tightened around her limbs as the smoke began to twist away, cleared by the vents as the airlock pressurized, in-flow and outflow balancing out until the inner doors automatically slid open on their reinforced tracks. What they revealed beyond them was only more darkness; they would have to keep the flashlights on, by the looks of it. Fortunately, the oppressive heat of the planet was entirely nullified in here, kept to safer levels by the insulating bulkheads that had remained intact around the hull.

“Ready to proceed?” Shepard checked with her team.

“Right behind you, Shepard,” Garrus affirmed.

Wrex nodded his head once. “Just lead the way.”

* * *

The corridor was dark, disordered from the crash. This section of the ship had landed at a slight angle, twisting it a few degrees to the right; looking down that long stretch of space was disorienting, and Shepard had to focus to keep her bearings.

All around, an eerie stillness lay over everything. No movement in the darkness, no signs of activity in sight. Only the slow drift of dust eddying through the beam of her flashlight, which drifted now over the sleek lines of consoles and terminals that lay upended and broken upon the glossy tiles. Medical equipment was strewn about the ground, delicate glass crunching under her boots. To the right, a whole transportation cart of ampules had bled their sticky contents onto the floor after it had been tipped onto its side. Shepard moved past it, bringing up her map to survey what she could of the area.

“Not much atmosphere in here,” she said to Wrex and Garrus, keeping her voice down. Their footsteps sounded conspicuously loud, but so far no survivors had been alerted to their presence. Garrus’ sweep of the systems had shown that some of the environmental safety controls were still active around this area, but operating at a very low level. It was imperative that they find what happened to the crew and the patients; time was likely running out.

“Transponder’s somewhere further along,” Shepard stated, looking for a path on the blueprints. Signage on the walls proclaimed this section to be the aft wing, which was near the intensive units and the bridge. “We’ll scout out each hallway, do a quick sweep of the area before we head up a floor. Report back with anything you find.”

“Understood.” Garrus gave a sharp nod; he appeared just as unsettled by the atmosphere in here as she did, setting off at a cautious prowl, whereas Wrex merely slouched about in an antithesis to his squadmate’s tension.

“I’ll take the right,” Wrex muttered. “But I don’t think we’ll find anything on this level. Air’s dead in here.”

Shepard didn’t want him going in dismissive. “Stay sharp. We don’t want any surprises,” she warned him, and he acknowledged her with a nod, sloping off in the opposite direction.

As soon as she was sure she had both squadmates’ positions feeding back to her on her omni-tool readout, Shepard started down the main corridor, pistol at the ready just in case. She’d seen places like this before. Usually they’d been abandoned, or were fresh wrecks, still ablaze and leaking oxygen and fuel. In this situation, there appeared to be no immediate danger – but appearances were deceptive, and it was always wise to keep tabs on one’s surroundings at all times. She couldn’t deny, however, that Wrex’s attitude hadn’t been without reason. The stillness in these dark corridors made it feel very much like they were too late to find any survivors.

Her boots tapped on the tiles, every footfall careful as she stepped around a toppled gurney, avoiding the tangle of wires and tubes that spilled from it. None of the rooms she passed showed any living presence – all of them were empty. Perhaps they had had time to evacuate; such crafts were doubtlessly equipped with escape pods, or at least an emergency strongroom in the event of a disaster. It was hard to believe that everyone could have simply vanished…

Her comms pinged. Garrus’ pleasant dual-baritone came through, slightly distorted by the bandwidth: “ _Just checked all the rooms here, Shepard. Negative contact on my side._ ”

“Copy that,” she answered grimly as she arrived at the foot of a stairway, lit by a single, strobing emergency light. “Everything up the main corridor’s quiet too. I’d say this place was cleared out.”

“ _It’s not looking good,_ ” he agreed.

Her comms gave a crackle; the second line was open. “ _Got something over here_ ,” Wrex grunted over it, but something about his tone made Shepard’s stomach tighten in trepidation. The lack of explanation spoke volumes; whatever he’d found, it didn’t sound promising.

“Survivors?” she asked immediately, fingers tightening around her pistol.

“ _…You ought to see for yourself_.” He sounded more grim than usual – something that didn’t ease her mind at all.

She pinged Garrus. “Garrus? We’re moving to Wrex’s location. Meet you there.”

* * *

It turned out that Wrex had found a way into the main life support unit, which was both a cleanroom and a stronghold; ideal for a muster point during an evacuation or disaster. Protected by thick, reinforced bulkheads, and supplied with heavy duty particle filters and oxygen scrubbers, it had the amenities to support life for days, if not weeks on end.

It was, indeed, where most of the Sacred Angel’s crew had gone. They’d clearly had solid procedures in place to move both staff and patients into there in good time, even bringing along short-term supplies to stabilize those in more critical states. But, as Shepard discovered when she rounded the corner and got her first look around Wrex’s bulk, none of that really mattered.

All of them were dead. Every last one – patients, staff, a few crew members, too, judging by the uniform. They were piled upon the ground or simply slumped over surfaces, none of them left standing. Most were human, but she could see some asari, turians, and even a salarian or two mixed in, lying stiffly where they’d fallen.

Wrex was leaning over a white-coated human, still taking stock of the situation. “These bodies are fresh. Can’t tell with the turians, but the rest are only just going into rigor mortis.”

“I don’t understand,” Shepard whispered, feeling a sinking sensation, ignoring his last remark. “This hold is intact. Environmental systems should have kept life support going.“

Garrus’ helmet tilted, scanning connections in the wall panels with his visor, immediately searching for any failure points.

“Geth attack?”

Wrex shook his head. “No wounds.”

Shepard kept her breathing slow. No matter how many times she encountered death, it still hit hard – especially when civilians were involved. Seeing so many innocent lives snuffed out together, in one place, too… _It’s like Elysium all over again,_ she found herself thinking.

The old fear, of the same kind that sometimes woke her during the night even now, threatened to steal over her, but she stubbornly aborted that line of thinking, making a conscious refusal to dwell on things she couldn’t change. Anderson had told her before that obsessing over traumatic events was only instinctive, as a means of unconsciously searching for ways to prevent their reoccurrence, but that doing so was rarely productive. Setting her jaw, she stamped out the panic she could feel creeping up her heart rate, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand instead.

“Garrus? Find anything?” she asked, tone a little sharper than usual, taking that step back.

He didn’t seem to mind, absorbed in what was on his omni-tool instead.

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice, sounding almost disbelieving. “No environmental systems are running here at all - something dumped the power to this place. It’s all been rerouted somewhere else. Probably all went out in one hit...lighting, air, everything.” There was morbid awe in his tone. “This was done on _purpose_.”

Shepard frowned. “On purpose? You sure about that?”

“Positive. These circuits are hard-wired with fail-safes all around. There’s no way this wasn’t manual,” he affirmed. “All the power was redirected.”

“But where? What could possibly be more important to keep running than the life support?” This was making no sense.

“Hell if I know. But if the transponder’s still got a signal, there might be something up in the bridge,” Garrus guessed, swiping away his haptic interface.

It was a fair point; that would probably be the best place to start looking for answers. “Alright then. We’ll sweep the bridge and the other areas just in case,” she said. “Once we get to the bottom of this, we’ll disable that transponder and send out coordinates for a retrieval.” She let out a long breath, casting a last, despairing eye over the scene before them. “I hope they're ready; there are going to be a lot of families to inform.”

* * *

The three of them moved more quickly now, proceeding along the main corridor that interlinked the different parts of the wing. Questions burned in Shepard’s mind, and all of them made her uneasy. She’d been correct about no mission ever being simple – this one was turning out to be something more disturbing than expected.

Further along they had been met by a wall of hot air; there was an open part of the hold, torn and gaping, exposing the end of the corridor to Metgos’ unforgiving elements. Wrex had made a sound of derision upon seeing it.

“We coulda just come in through the side,” he’d quipped, but Shepard knew very well that it would have taken them hours of negotiating debris in the Mako to find such an entry point.

“Eyes up ahead,” she’d told him. “Nearly there.”

Now they were passing through one of the darkened storage holds, which purportedly had an access stairwell leading up to the bridge. As Shepard had predicted, they’d found nothing in any other part of the vessel they’d seen, and this room, too, was just as deserted.

Or rather, so she had initially assumed.

A guttural, electronic rasp sounded from the depths of the hold, and at least a dozen round lights suddenly pointed their way.

“We’ve got company!” Garrus cried, snatching his rifle out of its holster in a smooth, reflexive movement. “More geth, on our nine!”

In such close quarters, this would have been a difficult fight, but they’d had the element of surprise on their enemies; Shepard managed to take one out by a tarpaulin-covered crate before it had even had a chance to raise its weapon and aim. Quickly, she, Garrus and Wrex fell into a ruthlessly effective pattern: mid-range Shepard wore them down, and those who came close were battered down by Wrex and his shotgun, while the defenders on the other side of the room fell to Garrus’ sharpshooting with the Haliat.

But the geth’s pulse rifles were not to be underestimated. Fragments of wood flew from the crate Shepard was using as cover, blasted by the slugs of energy shot her way. She took a defensive position the moment her shields started soaking up hits, methodically gunning down as many soldiers as she could in an effort to stop them spreading out to flank her and her team.

There was a crashing sound to her left; Wrex was smashing one to pieces in the corner where it had tried to circle around, shots ricocheting from his armored back before he charged at his other assailants. Shepard leaned around to give him some fire support, but at that moment another one vaulted her cover, right over her head.

She twisted, spinning around on the ground to aim up at it, just as it raised its curved rifle at her head –

Out of nowhere, Garrus pounced, seizing it by the back of the neck and savagely ripping a fistful of cables loose from its long throat. They sparked around his claws, the geth’s body falling limp to clatter down on the floor at his feet, all of its lights out, disengaged. He was still holding the Equalizer rifle cocked in his other hand…quite a feat.

Shepard nodded at him in appreciation. “Nice one.”

Garrus’ chest puffed out a little, inclining his head a little awkwardly in thanks, before another barrage of shots whistled over and he was forced to duck, crouching at her side with his back against the crate.

“How many left?” Shepard asked him, reloading her clip.

“About four, last I saw. Must have come in through the breach,” he told her. There was a krogan roar and a few geth limbs sailed over them, trailing sparks before it smashed against the wall.

Shepard gave a short laugh. “Make that three.”

Garrus’ mirrored visor turned to her, cocked playfully. “One each, then?” 

“You go left, I go right.”

Together, they rose out of cover, weapons blazing, and Shepard couldn’t deny that it was a heady moment. Normally she would ward against turning engagements into sport, but after what she’d seen in the so-called life support center it felt oddly cathartic. Her bullets took chunks out of her geth target, fired in quick succession, and beside her the single report from the Garrus’ Haliat rang out strong enough to shake her ribs.

Their remaining enemies fell, one after the other, and then Wrex tossed the last geth soldier down with a contemptuous grunt, its head-light smashed by a shotgun blast.

“Everyone OK?” Shepard checked, slightly out of breath – unusual for her, but emotions had been high.

“Yeah, just a few dings to the shields,” Wrex answered casually. “Definitely in better shape than these hunks of scrap. Think it was them that drained the power to this place?”

Garrus’ clawed boot crushed another geth head-light underfoot as he moved over to examine Wrex’s handiwork. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Guess that’s as likely an answer as we’re going to get here, with no survivors to tell the tale,” Shepard said, holstering her pistol. She looked up at the stairwell on the far side of the room, illuminated by a solitary striplight. “We're almost there...time to move on.”

* * *

There was a security center up in the bridge; here, an isolated circuit still provided power to the transponder beacon, and several small screens. It was with a heavy heart that Shepard turned off that transponder, radioing the Normandy with their dour update and a formal request for the information to be forwarded to an Alliance retrieval team. She sat heavily on one of the chairs, mercifully spared by the crash; in this room, narrow windows provided an all-round view outside the ship, though now there was only Metgos’ arid vista and all the wreckage to look at.

Garrus was flicking through one of the terminals by the screens, with the curiosity of any C-Sec officer. Old habits clearly died hard.

“Got anything interesting?” Shepard asked idly, mind still on how she was going to phrase her report.

“Looks like their security log. Nothing out of the ordinary. The usual comings and goings; visitors, guest consultants. I’m just wondering if they’d mention a geth attack, closer to the time of the crash…” Garrus scrolled through the information on the terminal, logs rolling up the screen. He paused as he reached the last few lines. “Oh…” he said. “Oh, that’s not good.”

She looked up, and even Wrex turned from where he’d been staring out at the view. “What is it?”

Garrus typed quickly on the haptic interface, bringing up more information. “The Sacred Angel had a security breach, right before it went down. See – right here.” One of the screens, timestamped a few days ago, showed a small hangar, with a shuttle docked just outside it. After a few moments, a group of men left it, moving at a quick, purposeful pace – one that both she and Garrus could both recognize from experience meant _trouble_.

“They’re armed to the teeth,” Shepard murmured. “A hijacking? Surely they’d have tripped some kind of alarm…”

“It’s looking like an inside job to me,” he said. “A sting that went awry. The cameras cut off not long after – we’ve only got some aborted instructions to warn the Alliance of hostages being taken on the ship, and then some internal messages about a scuffle in the main cockpit. But judging by the outpatient log, a Dr Heart managed to escape the hostage situation with ten patients from a nearby ward, all of rare blood types for their species, who’d been awaiting transport back to their home ships. Hmm. I guess the geth might not have been involved after all.”

“Who could it have been, then? Pirates? That other group...Cerberus?

“This whole system’s a hot zone, Shepard,” Wrex spoke up behind her. “Could have been anyone, from mercs to organized gangs. Shiny ship, fulla medical gear…it was obviously worth the risk to someone.”

Garrus was still scrolling, leaning closer to the screens. “This Dr Heart got very lucky,” he murmured pensively. “He was in _exactly_ the right place at the right time when the hijacking happened. Looks like the boarders passed him by completely. He should have been the first one they picked off. And why didn’t he raise the alarm? They went right past him; there’s no way he could have mistaken them for visitors. Nobody’s bringing in that kind of weaponry on a social call.”

“Got anything on him?” she asked, and he immediately tapped away, fingers flying over the keys.

“His file’s here. Some impressive credentials to his name. An expert in genetics, endocrinology…and he’s a _salarian_ …?” Something in the tone suggested that this meant more to him than usual, and she saw his entire demeanor change; his shoulders stiffened, limbs becoming still, like a hunter catching sight of prey.

“What are you getting at? I don’t quite follow,” she said.

He sat back abruptly. “Shepard…what kind of salarian name is “Heart”?” Garrus said, derisive. “It’s clearly an alias, and a terrible one, too. And don’t tell me it’s some translation, I know made-up names when I see them.” His whole body was tense, full of conviction. “It’s Dr Saleon. It has to be.”

“Your…organ harvester from the Citadel?” Shepard asked. He’d told her the story, before; the criminal that had gotten away from him, that he’d never quite forgotten. Grudges were dangerous when they were held for a long time. “But we’re light-years away from there,” she said. “And what would he be doing all the way out here on a human-run medical vessel? Any background check would have surely caught a past like his. Not to mention that a hijacking is kinda large-scale for a --”

He gave a frustrated growl. “I _don’t_ know! But I’m still _positive_ it’s him – it has to be! This is exactly the kind of underhanded crap he’d pull –“

Shepard cut him off before he could work himself up any more, trying to reason with him. “Garrus, I know that case meant a lot to you, but the galaxy is _full_ of salarian geneticists. There must be millions of them out there.”

Wrex gave a rumble of assent. “Do I have to remind you how much salarians love tinkering around with biology?” he growled. “It’s a long shot, kid.”

But Garrus wasn’t to be dissuaded. He opened more access logs, scanning over all the records of entry and exits from the hangar.

“Look...He used his pass to get into the shuttle bay, right before things went wrong up top and the vessel went down. There’s an unauthorized launch attempt, but the hangar bay doors were locked down the minute the emergency happened. He was probably trying to escape with those patients he picked up, but got trapped.”

“We can’t rule out the possibility that he was just a regular staff member trying to save his patients,” Shepard told him sternly.

“I’m not inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.” There was a savage edge to his voice. Suddenly he leaned close to the monitors. “Wait…the auto-logs say the shuttle’s still there. It’s in the hangar, somewhere behind us. The readings are all green – they’re even hooked up to the system.”

Shepard peered at the screen too.

“How does the shuttle have power and the rest of the ship doesn’t?” she asked. “I thought everything was vented by the geth?”

Wrex shuffled nearer. “Unless it wasn’t the geth,” he murmured.

Horror crept over her at the realization; Garrus sat back, nonplussed. It all made terrible, terrible sense, and she could barely bring herself to say it.

“They...dumped it all to charge the cells,” Shepard whispered. “That’s where all the power went.”

“Of _course_.” Garrus shook his head in abject disgust. “They hijacked this ship, the crew put up a fight on the main control deck - someone gets too trigger-happy and takes out the navigation crew by mistake. Whole vessel comes down on the planet, but we have survivors...or rather, we have them until these bastards suck all the power from life support, wanting to get their fuel cells charged up for ground-to-space takeoff in their shuttle with the big prize. Only the crash attracts some geth attention and they can only sit tight with the transponder on, hoping someone will take out the armatures scuttling around. Sitting ducks until an Alliance rescue can come sniffing around to either take out the geth or distract them.”

“And we just took care of that for them.” Shepard finished, feeling it like a blow. Her fingers curled around the grip of the pistol at her hip, more for comfort than anything, needing something to ground herself with.

Wrex growled. “Shoulda let the geth pick this place clean,” he grumbled bitterly. “Everyone was already dead when we got here.”

“Not quite everyone. We’re not too late,” Shepard reminded them cautiously. “We still have the ten hostages and the doctor in the shuttle with those hijackers.”

“Come on, Shepard, he’s in on this. He’s not a hostage.”

Before she could answer, something blipped on the screen, distracting them; Shepard looked up. “What’s that?”

“Comms line just opened. They’re hailing us.”

“Put them through,” she said, leaning forward grimly. Garrus pushed a few keys and then the crackle of static sounded from the terminal.

“ _—do you copy? We’ve been under attack by geth, but we are holding out in the launch bay_ ,” a warbling voice, heavily distorted, spoke over the channel.

She braced her hands on the console. “This is Commander Shepard of the Alliance Navy. We’re responding to a distress signal from this ship; what’s your status?”

There was a pause. “ _We are the only survivors. The geth have regrettably wiped out everyone on this ship after the accident._ ”

Shepard’s lips thinned. Accident? “We have reason to believe this ship was hijacked,” she said carefully.

“ _Hijacked? Nonsense. There was a malfunction with the navigation systems. As a respected staff member of this ship, I am an irrefutable witness._ ” The voice took on a petulant tone.

“You also witness to the life support being drained straight into your damn power cells?” Wrex butted in.

“Wrex...” Shepard hissed in warning. This was a delicate situation; antagonizing any hostage-taker, potential or otherwise, was a dangerous path to tread.

“ _That is a completely unfounded accusation and one I resent! I shall be making a formal complaint to your superiors._ ”

“It’s him, he’s in there,” Garrus growled under his breath beside her, also clearly close to losing his temper. His hands were clenched so hard on the console that it was on the verge of fracturing.

“We can’t know that,” she whispered, and then into the comms, she said: “Nobody is making accusations. We just have a few questions –"

“ _Absolutely not. If you're here and the geth are dealt with, we must depart as soon as possible – we have some very critical patients who simply cannot wait for a relief ship pickup._ ”

“What?” Shepard frowned, taken aback. “Negative, stay where you are. You can’t seriously be considering flying far distances off-planet in a shuttle.”

“ _We have already hailed a vessel, now that our power was sufficiently restored. I would thank you for your assistance, but your rudeness merits no such courtesy,_ ” the voice finished acidly.

“Belay that – I have a ship with more than adequate medical care ready and waiting. You’ll also be needed for witness reports as per –”

Static cut her off. Shepard blinked, shocked for a moment.

“They cut the line!” she said, indignant.

Garrus leapt to his feet. “What did you expect? They’re making a break for it!” he snarled, punching at the haptic interface until he found a working map that showed the launch bay in real-time. A small blip indicated the solitary shuttle, apparently starting its takeoff procedures. “We can’t risk them overriding the door controls – we can still catch them!”

Shepard could have reprimanded him for all kinds of impertinence, but time was running short. “We’ll cut them off at the hangar,” she said. “Move out!”

* * *

She ran for it down the stairs and up the walkway, Garrus hot on her heels and Wrex pounding the ground behind them, though he gradually lagged further and further behind as the incline grew steeper. This long interlinking corridor was clearly the one that lay across the hill; signs hung at strange angles and the paneling on the walls seemed to have warped. But conditioning and athletics meant the steepness didn’t slow Shepard down at all. She powered her way up, though Garrus soon sprinted ahead of her, driven as he was by some kind of boundless rage.

But soon they came to an impasse; a great door blocked the way, completely powered off and dead. Garrus ripped into some paneling, looking for manual controls, but even they were completely dark. There was no way through. Unless…

Shepard was reading some familiar heat signatures coming from the rooms to their right. Metgos’ searing temperatures were pouring in somewhere – another breach?

“We can’t get into the hangar – we need to get out, see where they’re headed,” she told him, as the muffled whine of an engine powering up grew louder and louder. “There might be another opening over here!”

He followed her at a sprint through the rooms – Wrex was somewhere further behind, no time to wait for him to catch up – and then there it was: a bright, ragged hole in the side of the ship. Through it they leapt, boots kicking up dust and ashes as they climbed the incline alongside the vessel to the main hangar bay –

It was on a hill, further from them than they thought, still out of reach. Blue lights shone - the lights of thrusters firing, beginning to lift the shuttle from the ground, already having cleared the outer bay doors. Garrus was pelting ahead of her as though he thought they could still catch it, but when it raised itself gradually into the air, even he could see that they were too late.

The shuttle turned a little, orienting itself, and a fierce cry crackled through her comms from Garrus as he skidded to a halt.

“Not this time, you bastard!” he snarled, snatching his rifle from its rear holster and savagely extending it to its full, formidable length, raising the scope to his eye.

Through the haze of wavering air she saw him line up the barrel, taking ruthless aim.

“Garrus, wait! What are you doing?” she yelled, catching up to him.

The barrel of the Haliat tracked along, trained on the small vessel as it began to move. “I’ve got a clear line on their fuel cells, I’m taking the shot!”

“Negative!” shouted Shepard, shocked at the idea. “You’ll take out the whole shuttle with an explosion like that – there are _civilians_ on board, remember?”

“He’s probably been experimenting on them for months already!” he snapped. “Didn’t you hear what happened when C-Sec refused to act last time? All his hostages from that escape probably died much more painful deaths than they would have if we’d taken action! I can’t let him go free, not again – whatever the cost!”

Horror at what he was suggesting turned her blood cold; his finger was on the trigger already.

“Those are innocent lives, Garrus, you are _not_ taking that shot! You blow them up, and this whole place will probably go, too! There’s a damn gas pocket below us!”

“If we lose him now --!”

Shepard put every ounce of authority she could muster into her voice, losing her temper. “ _Stand down_ , Vakarian! That’s an order!”

His limbs tensed, likely some instinctual formative memories of boot camp making him stand stock-still. For a moment she feared he would disobey a direct command from her; he was certainly angry enough to rebel, and had worked himself up into quite the frenzy. But the moment passed, and after several tense seconds he finally obeyed, ceding to her authority as the shuttle faded from view into the clouds. Garrus holstered his rifle, fury in every movement as he collapsed it, snapping it sharply back into place. His ire did not intimidate her in the slightest; she was just as angry at his impulsiveness as he was at her orders.

Shepard didn’t often raise her voice. She had always held the conviction that a good leader shouldn’t need to yell to make themselves heard. But here, now, with a soldier under her responsibility who had been about to make a fatal error with far-reaching consequences, she had no other choice.

“If you had hit that tank, the whole valley would have gone up, not just that shuttle with ten innocent lives aboard,” she berated him, outrage and horror long given way to her fury. “We’re in a volatile gas sink. A fire could ignite _kilometers_ of land. Do you have any idea what could have happened?” She gestured at the seething landscape around them. “And for the sake of what? A grudge? Your pride? We’re a long way out of C-Sec jurisdiction here. And you answer to _me_. Is that understood?”

His face was invisible behind the black mirror of his visor, but there was barely-repressed anger in the set of his limbs, seething under the surface like the planet’s heat. His resentment was obvious.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered curtly, coldly formal. There was a sharpness to his voice, like there was some strong feedback or interference over the comms – it was coming from his subvocals, she realized, his displeasure thrumming deep in his throat. But she was standing firm on her decision; that had been close, far too close to disaster. _Damned hotshot._ He could grumble all he wanted, she didn't care.

Wrex finally plodded up the verge, out of breath. He looked between them, obviously noticing the change in mood. After peering up at the vague contrail left behind by the shuttle, and finding that neither Shepard nor Garrus were breaking the silence, he cleared his throat.

“Uh. I’ll go start the Mako.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (+1 bonus sketchie added at the end there because I wanted to draw Garrus with his Very Big Rifle)


	5. Disciplinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus' bad mood is making waves; Shepard has to have a word with him in private.

The ride back had been _tense_. Precious little was said during their extraction, and after Shepard had soldiered them through a very subdued debriefing back on the Normandy, Garrus had stormed straight off to the lockers with his helmet tightly tucked under his arm. She’d never seen him so irate. Not even when Executor Pallin had taken him off his case against Saren had he been quite as furious.

She pursed her lips, anxious; this could be a problem. If they were to have any hope of taking down Saren in the long run, they’d have to work together, and a disagreement like this was a huge setback. She could only put her faith in Garrus cooling off and coming round in his own time; he probably just needed a moment to himself.

Wrex snorted behind her, still in his seat. “What’s crawled up _his_ ass?” he asked. “Thought he was gonna grind his mandibles to dust while you were talkin’.”

Shepard sighed inwardly as she turned off the holoprojector with a firm touch. “He’s just…a little disappointed with the outcome of this mission,” she said tactfully, but Wrex wasn’t fooled by her evasiveness.

“You mean he’s pissed off that he couldn’t kill the salarian bastard he was after,” he guessed, and a shrewd look came to his eye. “...Or maybe that you wouldn’t _let_ him?”

That was it. She’d had enough of this already; it had been a long trip back, and she really needed to collect her thoughts. “That is a concern between myself and Vakarian, Wrex,” she told him decisively, not wanting to dwell any further on this, nor encourage the juvenile amusement he was clearly deriving from this conflict.

“ _Vakarian_ , huh…?” Wrex repeated knowingly. “Knew it was a matter of time before the kid got himself into trouble.” He heaved himself out of the chair, shaking his head. “Good luck with that one, Shepard.”

* * *

Back in the tiny sanctuary of the commanding officer’s cabin, by the soft bluish light at her desk, Shepard finally put her head in her hands, allowing herself a moment to pick up the pieces and try her best to collect her thoughts.

It was a bad habit of hers, dwelling on things that had gone wrong. She held herself to very high standards which inevitably got let down now and then. Learning from mistakes was one thing, but when a situation was this complex, thinking about it too much would only serve to tie her in knots. The best choice would be to focus on moving forward from this point; after all, the mission hadn’t been a _total_ loss. She’d spoken with Pressly and Joker after the debriefing – while they had reported that the vessel that picked up the shuttle had been shielding, the docking data she had uploaded from the Sacred Angel had provided them with valuable serial numbers and pairing identification codes. They now had a trace on whichever vessel had swooped in to grab that shuttle out of orbit, and according to Pressly it was now only a matter of following a trail on the comm buoys. With Shepard’s Spectre clearance, the Normandy essentially had ears everywhere; each buoy that pinged that vessel would give them a breadcrumb trail to follow to its destination.

As for the downed medship…well. There was another reason she’d taken refuge in her cabin. Writing the report was always the worst part of a mission, for a number of reasons, and putting into stark facts exactly what the situation was and what kind of cleanup was needed was not the least of them. She turned on her terminal, opening up a new draft. So much had gone awry, but it all had to be accounted for...however difficult it might be.

It took Shepard the better part of an hour to get the damn thing typed up, cross-referenced, sent to the Alliance brass for approval. It was never easy, turning all that carnage and all those lost lives into…paperwork. Never something that had sat well with her, but it had to be done. She could at least understand the reason, the purpose for this – the need for accountability. If only she could instill that same sense into certain squadmates…

Shepard sighed.

She was still turning the mission over and over in her mind, trying to determine where it had all gone wrong, what she could have done to prevent that shuttle from taking off – or at the very least how she could have better de-escalated the standoff with Garrus. In all her career she had never had to shout down a seven-foot alien holding a rifle longer than her arm; it had taken all the steely courage of her N7 training to hold her ground.

There was no doubt that he was stubborn, driven, highly skilled…but someone who took their own initiative at the wrong time could be a dangerous liability, especially when they were so deeply convinced their actions were justified.

Shepard leant back in her chair, rubbing her tired eyes, the weight of command heavy on her all of a sudden.

At times like this, she turned to Anderson for advice. She’d often come to his desk when she’d been XO, if there were any technicalities she was unclear about, or if there were things troubling her. A good and solemn listener, he took everything she said into consideration, and was always willing to give her pointers. And hell, did she need some right about now…

She opened a blank email on her terminal, and typed out a brief, succinct message:

_“Anderson,_

_A mission turned into a complicated possible kidnapping, and the situation almost got ugly, with civilian lives at risk._

_Advice on dealing with subordinates would be appreciated. I had to talk down a very angry turian today, and I wanted to make sure I did the right thing. Did you see any similar situations during your training tours? Any guides on turian military ethics, or turian ethics in general that you could recommend me? Would appreciate any advice you could give, if it’s down to clashing cultures._

_Best wishes,_

_J._ _Shepard”._

She sent it out, hoping he wouldn't mind. She missed Anderson’s calm, purposeful certainty. His style of command was one she often found herself trying to emulate as best as she could; a crew felt like it was in sure hands, under him. Fortunately, with her priority comm links as a Spectre, he’d never be too far away - and sure enough, a message from him came back to her not long after she had sent hers. It was probably afternoon on the Citadel, she guessed, opening up her inbox.

Anderson’s reply was kind, thorough, to the point. He told her he admired her resolve in handling a difficult situation, and that she would have to proceed with tact.

“ _Turians pay great attention to their superiors_ ,” he added. “ _It’s something that’s drilled into them from a young age. I’m sure he’s going to see sense if you explain things to him. Just use your common sense, and take care. I know you’ll bring him back in line in no time._ ”

Shepard felt a little more encouraged, consoled by the advice that clearly came from substantial experience. Anderson had once worked with a trigger-happy turian himself, after all. She couldn’t forget that. Only that turian hadn’t been one he could ever have talked down...

But Garrus was not malicious in his eagerness to fight – that was what set him apart from Saren Arterius, as a teammate. Shepard knew this. He was driven by good intentions, even if his methods might not be quite as nuanced as they should be. This fundamentally good moral compass was also what made Shepard sure that she could get through to him somehow, appeal to his better nature. It was only a matter of getting him to calm down enough to listen to sense…

* * *

After a couple of days of tailing the vessel through the Kepler Verge, Shepard had a visit to her cabin.

She’d been taking a break from researching new leads when there was a soft blip on her comms; she raised her head from her hands where she was sat at her desk.

“Commander? Have you got a moment?” It was Ashley.

"By all means," Shepard said, letting her in and making her way to the corner table where they could both sit. "Take a seat.” Shepard let her in, and sat herself down opposite Ashley by the corner table. “Something bothering you?”

Gunnery Chief Williams perched herself at the edge of the chair, looking tense, her hands clasped tightly together over her knees.

“Thanks, ma’am. Uh, yeah - I just wanted to…talk to you about something,” she said, and took a deep breath. “Commander, it’s about the turian –”

“Officer Vakarian,” corrected Shepard gently, something she’d done countless times. “What’s up?”

Ashley looked uncomfortable, as if unsure how to put her concerns into words. “Well…since you came back he’s just been acting all _weird_.”

Shepard frowned. “Weird how?”

She gave a broad shrug, casting her eyes around the cabin. “I don’t know, just…like he’s really _mad_ about something. Before, he used to work on the Mako, keep to himself, and that was fine. But now he just keeps dismantling and reassembling his damn rifle all day and all night. He’s all over the guns. And I don’t like the way he stalks around like he’s about to snap at someone. Even those junior engineers who used to hang out with him won’t go near him any more.”

Shepard’s heart sank. With all the work she had going on, she'd thought the best option had been to give Garrus some space to calm down. Perhaps she should have gone to speak with him, checked up on him a bit more; she’d had no idea things were getting so bad.

“Garrus is just…a little on edge right now,” she answered her heavily. “He’s probably preparing for the next mission, when we catch up with that vessel – wherever it’s headed.”

Ashley seemed unconvinced, shaking her head, at a loss. “Look, I know you’re all pro-aliens, Shepard, but this guy’s a _turian_. First Contact War, remember? You ever hear the stories about what they can do? And he’s clearly pissed off about something in a big way. What happens if he goes crazy and raids the armory? What if he attacks someone? What if –”

Shepard held up a hand to stem the flow of anxious questions.

“Ashley, Garrus is a trained professional. I have every faith in that training, and in his discipline. He is not going to "go crazy". Besides, _you_ have the pass to the armory, Gunnery Chief. I’m confident that it’s secure with you. And in the very unlikely chance that something were to happen, we’re aboard a vessel full of trained personnel. Do you think Wrex would pass up a chance to tackle him down?” Shepard gave her a reassuring smile. “Relax, Ashley. I’ll talk to him, if that makes you feel better.”

Williams still didn’t look entirely convinced, but she at least appeared mildly consoled. “Thanks, Commander.”

* * *

Shepard couldn’t deny that things were in need of intervention. After having listened to Ashley’s concerns, it seemed as though Garrus hadn’t cooled off, but was working himself up instead, letting his anger fester; either way, this had gone on long enough.

She’d called him to her cabin, not wanting to dress him down anywhere near the earshot of other crew members – or, God forbid, _Wrex_. This was a delicate enough situation; just as much as she wanted to set things straight, she didn’t want to humiliate him by doing this out in the open. _Tact_ , Anderson had said. She could do tact.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?” Garrus asked curtly, standing ramrod-straight in front of her and staring fixedly at a point above her head. She could see what Ashley had meant, then, about the change in his demeanor. Anyone would be intimidated by the cold, hard set to his stance. There was something tense and closed-off about him now – a stillness that was almost predatory. No wonder the junior engineers who’d once warmed to him had been scared off…Shepard braced herself, knowing full well it was going to be all down to her to sort this out.

He’d refused the seat she’d offered, but she hadn’t pressed the matter. If he preferred to loom over her like a dour statue, then that was his choice. This wasn’t about imposing her authority on him. The jut of his jaw and the way his hands were clasped behind his back made it clear that he knew why he was here; he was getting ready to be berated. She knew that look. She’d worn it herself often enough, back in her cadet days, standing in front of her CO and keeping her face carefully blank for a disciplinary. She’d never known how telling it was.

Now on the other side of the table, Shepard looked up at him calmly, one leg crossed over the other and consciously trying to keep her shoulders relaxed. She wasn’t sure how well body language translated between species, but it probably wouldn’t help to put him at any kind of ease if she let on how tense she was.

“I am giving you permission to speak your mind, Garrus,” she told him outright, without preamble, wanting to get right down to it. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I want it out in the open.” Going round in circles and dancing around the issue wouldn’t help anyone, nor would all of this posturing ease communication.

He blinked a few times, as if taken aback by her directness and wondering whether or not this was a trick. Clearly this kind of straight talk wasn’t common in dressing-downs with turian superiors. _You’ve been here before,_ she thought. _How many captains and commanders had to take you aside in your lifetime, when your stubborn sense of justice got you in trouble?_

Whatever sign Garrus was looking for, he didn’t find it; his mouth opened and shut a few times, hesitant, until finally he spoke.

“I’m…not happy with the outcome of the mission,” he stated stiffly, unprepared to be airing his views. Discipline was holding him back, though his frustration at her clipped his words. Shepard wasn’t going to settle on that as an answer.

“That’s it?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

She’d intended it as a gentle push; he took it as a challenge. His eyes finally flicked down to her, icy, hawk-sharp and irate. “Of course it isn’t! You know it’s not!” he snapped, then remembered himself and awkwardly added: “…Commander.”

Shepard clasped her hands together, utterly unruffled. “Tell me anyway. This is all confidential, off the record. Anything you want to say, I’m going to listen.”

Garrus’ mandibles hinged in and out for a moment. That discipline was battling for dominance with his feelings, and he waged a brief internal battle with himself until the tension that had been brewing in him finally, inevitably spilled over.

“Why did you stop me?” he demanded, cold restraint evaporated by searing anger. “After all of the fighting, all of the horrible things we found – after all I _told_ you about this bastard – why didn’t you let me finish it once and for all?”

Her lips narrowed; she’d anticipated this. “As I told you before, I couldn’t let you knowingly kill ten innocents and turn the whole valley into a fireball around us,” she said. “The Alliance Navy takes collateral fallout very seriously. Doing something like that would have brought down all kinds of sanctions on us, whatever you think it might have achieved.”

“Sanctions, huh? You forgotten you’re a Spectre, Shepard? That you answer to the Council and not your human Navy? Hell, they wouldn’t even have had to _know_!” he growled, then shook his head bitterly. “When I joined up with you, I thought I was getting away from the red tape, from the stupid holdups and regulations that get in the way of justice. I thought I was finally gonna see things get _done_. But instead I find myself standing there on that damn hill like an ass, rifle ready in my arms, just _watching_ a criminal escape like he did on the Citadel.” Teeth glinted between his jaws, sharp, catching the light from her lamp. “It makes me wonder what good it is being a Spectre if you don’t even _use_ the power you’ve been given. Is it just another badge of honor, for you?”

That insinuation stung. Clearly he knew about the Star of Terra, though she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of rising to his bait. “Being given Spectre status doesn’t mean being given a free pass to gun down anything in sight,” she countered, staying above his barbed accusation. “Laws exist for a reason. Everyone has a code they follow. I use my authority within the bounds of my code. If I didn’t, I’d only be a rogue agent like Saren.” She took a breath. “That’s why it’s important to keep from acting rashly, and to set aside personal feelings for the greater good.”

“The greater good!” Garrus repeated derisively. “How many could we have saved, if you’d let me take that shot? You wanna take a guess at how many victims he must’ve had, between now and when C-Sec let him get away?”

Her gaze hardened. “If you had hit that tank, you would have made some victims yourself. You would have intentionally killed ten innocent people, and unlawfully executed an individual who hadn’t been properly questioned. The Alliance would have come down hard on you, and on me as your commanding officer – and if that shuttle had blown up over the gas sink, we’d have had even worse problems,” she told him. “On a planet like that, an uncontrolled explosion could have ignited _kilometers_ of land. Who’s to say we would have made it out ourselves? Not to mention the damage that could have done to the planet itself.”

Garrus gave an impatient scoff. “We were practically five feet from the Mako, and the place has probably been on fire for millions of years. Even if the galactic environmental authority got on your ass, they wouldn’t have dared reprimand a Spectre and you know it.”

“Garrus, I'm the first human Spectre. All eyes are on me. I can’t build a reputation of indiscriminate murder and environmental destruction, especially not when humanity is still trying to find its place on the Council,” she contested. “I have to do this _right_. By the book.”

Dark eyelids narrowed, his eyes slits of derision. “So your agenda matters more than mine? Yeah, well, you humans already have a reputation on the Citadel – for grabbing at power and privilege beyond your means, never actually proving yourselves. I’m starting to think there’s a reason for that.”

That was out of line. Shepard crossed her arms, glaring up at him. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. This isn’t about proving myself to anyone. My first objective is always the mission.”

“Well, I don’t think _any_ part of that mission played out well for us, and all we ended up doing was helping a criminal escape,” Garrus hissed. “Innocent people are getting hurt wherever Saleon goes, Shepard! He’s a monster!”

“I don’t doubt that - of course I don’t, but we had no way of knowing if that was even your Dr Saleon on that shuttle,” she said. “We only had circumstantial evidence and the fact you thought that “Dr Heart” sounded like an alias. I'm not familiar with how convictions work with C-Sec, but it was a risk we couldn’t afford to take, especially not with ten souls in danger and a hazardous environment to consider.”

A growl of frustration rumbled deep in his chest - not something she often heard from him, nor something she wanted to hear again in the enclosed space of her cabin – and he ground out: “If he was innocent, then why the hell did he _run_? What innocent salarian doctor takes off from a wreck he’s supposedly being saved from? Those were outpatients – they weren’t in any danger like he said. And he flat out denied there’d been a hijacking in the first place! Even if it wasn’t him, you have to admit that looks suspicious as all hell!”

“Protocol –”

“What good is protocol to all the people he hurt, and continues to hurt?” he interrupted, subvocals strong enough to vibrate through her ribs.

Shepard’s lips thinned, losing her patience. “Are you really trying to imply I didn’t care he escaped? We follow procedure for a reason. There’s the right way to do things, and then there’s the _easy_ way,” she retorted. “We don’t _do_ this the easy way.”

“Obviously!” he snapped derisively, pacing back and forth in front of her, gesticulating with a taloned hand. “It’s always gotta be the hardest, most complicated solution that only gets help to those who need it when it’s already far too late. Then it’s: “oh, sorry, our hands were tied!” Why not use power that you have, any power, to bring some damn justice where it’s needed?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but then caught herself. There was a bitterness in his tone, a frustration that told her this went deeper for him than their current mission. That was what was fueling his resentment and rage, and now he was itching for a fight, an argument, an outlet for his anger. It was clear in his clenching fists, the tremble in his mandibles, the bared teeth. Shepard had been there many a time, and knew well how these kinds of arguments ended. It would get them nowhere good; she had to deescalate.

Shepard took a deliberate, measured breath before she answered, lowering her voice, leaning forward persuasively. “You feel responsible for this,” she stated. “Because he got away on your watch last time. But I promise you, Garrus, this man is not going to walk free. We’re going to bring him to justice - but we’re going to do it _right_. The hostages deserve their own justice too.”

His crested head turned down to the carpet, scowling into the cowl of his armor. “So many of these rules are based around what-ifs and hypotheticals. The risks don’t matter. This is just playing into his hands again, giving him the opportunity to run. Saleon has to go _down_ , collateral be damned.”

That drew her up short and smart. She looked up at him sharply, shocked that he’d even say that.

“Garrus - the thing about collateral damage is, it’s not collateral to _everyone_. Only to you,” she said. “Do you really want to put yourself in that position? Because _we’re_ sure as hell collateral to whatever Saren’s up to. Eden Prime was collateral. You’ve been a soldier, too; you must have seen what happens when someone decides someone else is expendable.”

His mandibles pulled up, hands tightly clasped behind his back, her words obviously hitting home…but then he shook his head, sighing.

“He’s getting away while we’re debating ethics,” he grumbled, turning away. “If it’s all the same with you, I’d keep the philosophy lesson for another time.”

She watched him carefully; even though he was still griping, she’d noticed a change in him. The fire in him had banked to a sullen smolder, the heat of his anger vented. He was listening to her. She’d struck a chord with him somewhere.

“That’s fine with me,” Shepard said placidly, then looked him in the eye, serious. “But before I let you get back to Engineering, I need to know, Garrus: _are you still with me_? I can’t risk a soldier going rogue under my watch. If I can’t depend on a teammate during a mission, it puts everyone at risk. I’m sure you understand the position I’m in.”

He looked back at her, eyes widening a little. The implication that she believed there was a risk he’d mutiny seemed to surprise him. There was something like discomfort and shame coming over his demeanor now, and a realization of the things he’d said. Shepard could only guess what the turian military thought of mutineers.

Garrus struggled a little with his words, chastised. “…Yeah. I’m still with you,” he murmured finally, grudging but sincere, falling back in line. “I guess it’s the best chance I have at taking this bastard down. And I’m…sorry for speaking to you impertinently, Commander. I don’t usually get that carried away.”

She gave him a nod. “I asked you to speak your mind and you did; I’m not gonna punish you for that, Garrus,” she assured him gently. “All I want to know is that you’re part of the team.”

He cleared his throat. His spine was still stiff, but it wasn’t with the seething wrath of earlier – it was just his old, familiar proper posture. “You can still count on me to do my job,” he told her gruffly. “Just…let me be the one to put a bullet through his head when we catch him.”

Shepard gave him a grim smile. “If he won’t come quietly, I won’t stand in your way. We’ve got that shuttle’s course, now; they’re headed for something in the Kepler Verge.”

“I hope to hell we catch him this time," Garrus said, and heaved a great sigh, his rigid shoulders sagging a little. "This was always how he operated…he always had an escape route, every time. Never went into something without a way out, and just kept running, and running…”

She stood, putting a hand on his arm – a conciliatory gesture that made him look up again. “I think our chances are looking good,” she told him. “This ship is equipped with state of the art stealth systems, and they don’t even know we’re following. Even a serial escape artist can get caught unawares. You’ll see.”

“I…Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

His eyes met hers; the anger was slumbering there now, calmed and quietened, but she knew it would never truly be put to rest until they caught up to that salarian, wherever they found him.

And then…Well.

Then there’d be no force in the galaxy able to stand in Vakarian's way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk...while I was writing that argument, I just had the dialogue from this scene with Garrus' VA in my head and it was a STRUGGLE not to laugh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_cSxH_JwxY


	6. Collateral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Normandy catches up with the MSV Fedele, and some shocking details on the hostages come to light. Garrus makes a terrible tactical decision.

Shepard leant across the displays in the cockpit, taking her first, grim look at their target. After a long chase, they’d finally traced the vessel here – a remote corner of the Herschel system, where a tiny private station lay somewhere between the orbits of the two outermost planets. On the screen the ship showed up as little more than a distant glint, annotated with coordinates and the Normandy’s bearing, but already her team had drawn up a lot of intel on it.

“The MSV Fedele,” Joker stated from his seat, face bathed in the light of the vast array of controls before him. “Got eyes on it now. Looking likely that it's our vessel – they’ve stopped off at some kind of station, maybe to refuel or resupply.”

Her eyes skimmed the info on the floating structure. “Whatever they’re doing, they don’t seem to have noticed us,” she murmured. The station looked to be simple and of human design, fairly small in size – perhaps a temporary facility, with a modular layout. The vessel docked to it appeared to be a modest conveyor, Kowloon class. Not many defenses, but privately owned freighters could have any kinds of modifications hidden on them. “We have any confirmation that it’s our guy in there?”

“I looked up the specs already,” Joker affirmed. “Apparently the ship's registered to a Dr R. Heart. Got a shuttle on board that matches the serial numbers of your escapee, and the engines look like they leave a similar heat trace to what we followed up from Metgos.”

“Excellent work.” Shepard straightened up; already the adrenaline was beginning to rise in anticipation of this final excursion. “Keep our stealth systems running; I’ll tell the team we’re about to head out.”

“Aye aye, Commander.” Joker flicked a few switches behind the yoke, all with the ease of expert practice, then asked casually: “Hey, you taking Garrus? He was snapping at everyone a couple days back, _really_ bringing down the vibe here. Big krogan dude said you guys had some kind of bust-up on Metgos – people were starting to take bets on who would win if the two of you ended up throwin’ hands.” He grinned widely, but then his smile faltered at the stern expression on Shepard’s face, and he immediately turned back to the controls. “Uh – sorry, Commander. Keeping her steady.”

Shepard shook her head in fond exasperation, and made her way out of the cockpit – though not fast enough to miss hearing Joker whisper into his comms: “ _Hey, Kendall. Make that 20 credits on Shepard._ ”

* * *

The Normandy drew in close to the station, silent and invisible as a phantom. The Fedele had observation windows, but Joker had kept them carefully out of sight, approaching from the other side of the tiny modular station to keep it between them. The vessel’s engines were still cooling, Shepard had heard; their target had clearly arrived not long ago, and was unlikely to be on the move again any time soon. A stroke of luck indeed, because she had no idea what the hell Dr Heart’s objective was, or where he was taking the abductees. Garrus probably would have some theories, but it wouldn’t do to work him up, or rely on conjecture alone. In any case, this was going to be a stealth operation; with such little intel, they’d have to quickly and silently gather more themselves.

For this…delicate excursion, Shepard had opted for a slightly different ground team, having already pondered this extensively in the run-up to this moment.

Taking Wrex was out of the question. If she'd opted to bring him along this time, he'd definitely have been something of a problem. His brute strength and power were considerable assets, yes, but they needed covert finesse for this mission. Nothing that would jeopardize the safety of the kidnapped patients, if they were under armed guard of any kind. Hostage situations could escalate into a terrible mess, and it was something no commander wanted on their record if it went south.

Wrex had complained about the decision, of course, having been eager to help capture a wayward salarian, but Shepard wisely stuck with her decision. Just as well; she needed Garrus clear-headed, and Wrex had given every indication that he’d endanger that with his snarky remarks.

Garrus…Shepard sighed to herself. He’d seemed to have calmed down somewhat, after their chat, though he'd still been keeping to himself. She hoped that this mission would give him some kind of closure, which he sorely needed. Although she’d made a point of reminding him that he was an Alliance NCO for the time being and not a C-Sec officer, it was clearly hard to suppress that insatiable drive for justice. Dr Heart – or Dr Saleon – would certainly get his comeuppance one way or another, if Vakarian’s tenacity had anything to say about it.

But the foremost point of this mission was to rescue the patients stolen from the Sacred Angel. Anything else was secondary to that. They would go in quietly, quickly, and assess the situation; then, once the hostages were located, they would find a way to secure them, either through negotiations with their captors or, if communications broke down, through a controlled engagement in combat, all while keeping the innocents shielded.

This was why Shepard had chosen Lieutenant Alenko to come with them, this time; his biotic powers and training would come in useful should they need barriers at short notice. His training was sound, and she’d have a far easier time coordinating a team with a fellow Alliance soldier in it, who knew protocol inside-out just as she did. Maybe that would also help in the hopefully unlikely instance that she would need backup with a certain turian…

Kaidan was strapping the shoulder-guards onto his armor when Shepard passed him, starting on her way up from the lockers.

“How’s the implant doing, Lieutenant?” she asked, checking in on him. “Any trouble today?”

“No, ma’am – I’m all good to go.” Kaidan grinned broadly at her, saluting. “I’ve not had the migraines as often now, the lights are a lot friendlier in here. But even when I do get them, I take ‘em in my stride. Nothing to worry about with me, Commander.”

“That’s good to hear.” Shepard smiled back, tucking her helmet under her arm and gestured up the stairs. “We’ll rendezvous outside the airlock doors as soon as you’re done. Joker’s ready to bring us in at any time. Just got to make sure Garrus is prepped too.”

“I think he’s already up there,” Kaidan told her, then bent to pick up his holsters. “Hey, by the way - whatever you said to Vakarian a couple days ago, it sure worked. Some of the crew were getting worried about him, like he was about to bite someone's head off. But ever since you talked to him, he's been a lot less...intense. I gotta admire the diplomacy there.”

Shepard thanked him, but still couldn't lie about her reservations. “I don’t think that solved everything,” she admitted quietly. “This mission has a lot of personal baggage riding on it for him. It could go a lot of ways. I’d considered taking him off it out of conflict of interest, but that would probably do more harm than good - Garrus needs to see this out to the end, and learn from his mistakes. There’s only so much that talking can do; sometimes you need to lead by example.”

Alenko nodded at her, aligning his sights. “I think you’re making a good call, Shepard,” he said. “I just hope we’re arriving in time to save those civilians.”

“Yeah. I think that’s what’s on everyone’s minds right now.”

She excused herself, moderately encouraged by his endorsement, but still hoping that he was right about Garrus. If Anderson were here, would he have done the same? No way of knowing. She’d have to figure this all out for herself. A commander had to be self-reliant, much like an N7 soldier; she could do this.

Up above, the CIC was once more a bustle of activity. This time, however, it was quieter, more intense; a stealth mission always put that kind of energy in the crew. Something about being aboard a state-of-the-art stealth frigate with some of the best cloaking technology in the known galaxy really got everyone engaged in their roles, and she was glad for it. Every single one of them had an important job, here, and their support on the Normandy helped her to fulfill her own responsibilities.

Now they were approaching the crucial time again; there’d be no plunge out of the bay doors this time, however. It would be a furtive entry through the airlock once they’d docked, stepping out of the Normandy straight into the thick of it. She could see Joker ahead of her, down the walkway, at his seat the cockpit; he was chatting, but his head was down, concentrating. She knew that beneath the irreverent attitude that would have gotten him in trouble with a less tolerant commander, he had a sharp mind and a prodigious talent that would always get the job done. The ship was in no better hands.

When Shepard drew nearer to the portside airlock, she found a tall shape looming ahead of her, alert and waiting by the doors.

“Garrus,” she greeted him, approaching with a little subconscious caution. Fully geared up in his black and blue armor, he cut an impressive figure.

“Commander.” He gave her a curt nod in response, straightening himself imperceptibly; she took it as a tacit sign that he was promising to behave himself this time around, in light of what she’d discussed with him. And a good thing that was, too. She sure didn’t fancy another altercation like last time.

An assault rifle and the Equalizer were prepped and ready on his dorsal holster – she couldn’t help but notice they looked more polished than usual. At least his bout of ill temper had had constructive results; she’d known officers who punched holes in walls or shouted down junior staff to vent their anger. If those officers had been seven feet tall with three-inch talons and two sets of jaws…well. She didn’t want to even imagine it.

Joker’s voice crackled in over her comms, echoed by Joker himself just down the hallway. “ _You’re good to go at any time, ground team. Good luck in there_.”

* * *

They alighted silently, keeping low, Shepard taking point with Kaidan and Garrus close behind. A maneuver they had much experience with, on all kinds of terrain. Operations in an enclosed space had their own benefits and drawbacks; fewer environmental factors to contend with, yes, but also there was less room for engagements, and more potential for ambush. Caution was key.

They fell into step smoothly, professionally. Kaidan crept in at her left, eyes on the corridor ahead of them. At her right, Garrus prowled in a low crouch, his nose twitching as if he was subconsciously trying to sniff out the salarian; this was obviously something that was foremost his mind, even after their conversation.

“Remember,” Shepard had repeated to them both in the briefing, though mostly for Garrus’ benefit, “the hostages are our first priority. Securing the doctor is our secondary objective.”

Of course, when she'd said it, Garrus had looked as if he thought he’d like to secure a bullet in the doctor’s head instead, but he’d given his assent anyway. Now that they were in here, she sincerely hoped he’d remember her words. They were going in mostly blind, relying on the readouts of their omni-tools and the turian's visor; it was imperative that their unit stayed cohesive.

“Got a few heat signatures, room to the right,” Garrus murmured beside her, staying low. “Think I’m seeing weapons. Guards?”

“We’ll take the left,” Shepard stated. “Scan’s showing a way through a module.”

The Normandy’s traceless scanning was providing them with some invaluable external information on the little station; it was only a matter of superimposing that rough layout of modules onto the interior scans of their omni-tools, and a rudimentary map could be made piece by piece. It was looking now as though the modular room to their left was empty, and had enough space in it to hide if necessary. Staying close to the walls, Shepard signaled Kaidan and Garrus to follow, and led them through the door.

* * *

The security aboard the small station appeared to be light; clearly the doctor and his security detail either didn’t expect company, or the main bulk of the mercenaries was still aboard the vessel itself. They met no resistance as they moved along...but nevertheless, Shepard kept her guard up, and her squad members did the same.

The room they had entered was darkened and deserted. By the looks of it, it appeared to be some manner of laboratory. Air scrubbers hummed in the vents, up on walls lined with glassy incubators. Even in the dim light, Shepard could see they housed bottles and vials of various liquids, all meticulously labelled. Some bottles were mounted on equipment for analysis, and she couldn’t help but notice that most of the liquids they contained were various shades of _red_.

“Looks like he’s expanded his base of operations,” Garrus muttered under his breath as he stalked his way past a table, palms open as if itching to hold his rifle. “Guess secrecy is less of an issue when you’ve got your own vessel and research station.” She saw him pause by a bottle of blue liquid, but before she could answer Kaidan hissed: “Commander, over here.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Shepard turned to him. He was hunched over a datapad lying on one of the workbenches; its screen still glowed, and he was flicking through reams of information.

“Got one of the datapads,” Kaidan said. “There’s a lot of documentation on here. Something about research projects on blood groups.”

She bent over it with him, Garrus immediately moving over to look too.

There were pages and pages of text, paragraphs punctuated by cold, clinical pictures. A lot of them looked dubious, especially the further back they went. Records of patients, of subjects, of how they had been tinkered with and how they had died…as well as how much their parts had sold for. It was enough to make Shepard shiver.

“Looks like he's been involved with some hematological studies recently,” Kaidan murmured, scrolling through. “Something to do with making universal organs. Either way, there’s a lot of money involved.” He paused. “There’s even some info on the Sacred Angel – guess that was his source for new test subjects.”

“The patients all had rare blood types,” Shepard said. “That’s some support for the theory.”

He opened another document, this time full of pictures containing a lot of glistening red. Autopsies, dissections – _vivisections_ …all three of them stared in transfixed disgust.

“If I’d had access to this back at C-Sec…this evidence would have been enough to put him away for _sure_ ,” Garrus said with morbid fascination, the screen's light reflecting in his eyes.

“That’s _horrible_ ,” Kaiden whispered, staring at the images, then looked up at Garrus. “This guy was loose on the Citadel?

“See, Shepard?” Garrus growled, turning to her. “This is the kind of guy we’re dealing with. This is who we let walk away on Metgos.”

Her stomach was tight, seeing the evidence, but she wouldn't let him make her doubt her decision. She was as firm as ever on the issue. “We let him walk away so we could save the poor people he took from that wreck,” she answered quietly. “Kaidan – upload that data to the Normandy, we’ll need it as evidence to send on to the Alliance. And we’d better keep moving; those patients need to get out of here _fast_.”

* * *

They had just finished a sweep of the room when the other door swept open and a lightly armored human walked in; a guard, some kind of mercenary by the look of him. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to find anything on his cursory patrol - and even if he had, it likely wouldn't have been a few hundred pounds of stealthy turian rushing to intercept him.

Garrus moved far more lightly on his feet than Shepard had expected, advancing fluidly and noiselessly to pin the man’s arms and clamp a gauntleted hand over his mouth. The guard squirmed, more out of shock and terror than any concerted attempt to escape, and Kaidan sprang up to swiftly disarm him, yanking a stock assault rifle out of his holster before his flailing hands could find it. Shepard drew her pistol, keeping it to hand, wary for any biotics – but Kaidan seemed to catch her thought and shook his head. No implants here.

The man’s flailing feet made a brief scuffle of noise, but then he was lifted off the ground until he stopped, frozen as he realized he was outnumbered and ambushed.

“Hi there,” Garrus growled in the man’s ear. “We’ve got a few questions for you.”

“ _Ack_!”

“Garrus, he can’t answer you if he can’t breathe,” whispered Shepard.

One clawed hand reluctantly shifted its grip, but remained within range as a subtle threat against any attempts to yell. But the man seemed too shocked and intimidated by his predicament to call for help, especially given that he had a turian breathing down his neck.

“Where are those patients from Metgos?” Shepard asked him, direct and to the point. “No harm will come to you if you cooperate with us. This is an official Alliance investigation.”

“You’re not supposed to be here!” the guard choked, either playing dumb or shocked out of his wits.

“She asked you a question,” Kaidan said to him menacingly. Clearly he was almost as riled up as Garrus; those research documents had had an effect on him.

“That’s confidential! You’re trespassing on a private ship! I can’t tell you anything!”

“Oh, you are gonna tell me _everything_ ,” Garrus hissed, flexing his talons. “I’ve interviewed hundreds of goons like you and _all_ of them break. It’s only a matter of whether it’s before or after I get my claws in their fleshy –“

“Garrus.” Shepard stopped him. “That won’t be necessary.”

He gave a longing, vengeful growl. “Just give me five minutes with this guy, Shepard,” he said, hard menace in his eye. “It’s gonna save us so much legwork, I promise.”

“You want to do to him what we saw on that datapad?” she asked him, reminding him of the horrors they’d just seen.

“Oh. Now _that’d_ be poetic.”

The pensive gleam in his eye was definitely not what she’d been aiming at. Shepard put her foot down. “We don’t do your kind of “interrogations”,” she berated him. “No good cop, bad cop. In the Alliance it’s just good cop, war criminal.”

Garrus’ mandibles drooped, exposing his teeth, clearly frustrated. To make matters worse, the guard seemed encouraged by this.

“And I’m not telling you a thing,” he stated defiantly –

An intercom chimed somewhere in the adjoining corridor, halting Garrus before he could do something worthy of a court-martialing.

“ _Erdin Kane, please report to the subject holding cells in room 21 for the new arrivals. The doctor will be with them shortly._ ”

The guard visibly deflated, and Kaidan grinned, lowering his rifle. “Looks like you don’t _have_ to after all,” he gloated.

Shepard felt a wave of relief, glad that they now had a clear location; even when Garrus knocked the guard cold with a headbutt that would have made Wrex proud she didn’t admonish him beyond a pointed look. The sooner they could get to those patients the better – and they were closer than ever.

* * *

“Room 21,” Shepard murmured to her small team, moving quickly up the outside hallway. “We’ll need to be ready for engagement on the way back –“

They almost ran into a group of guards rounding the corner, barely on the last stretch of corridor to their objective. As one, they drew their guns. In the pause, Shepard straightened up, palms outward in a conciliatory gesture.

“This is an Alliance investigation. I have Spectre clearance and need your full cooperation with –"

A bullet smacked into her armor, electrically charged and of a higher caliber than she was expecting. Damn - negotiations looked to be off the table. Kaidan leapt up next to her as she grabbed for her pistol, but her shields were already down as he started shooting. In the chaos she grabbed for her medkit, ducking for cover and trying to fire at the same time. Garrus moved ahead of her when another bullet found its mark on her exposed side – these guys were clearly from the vessel, and not the paltry station guards.

“Shepard’s been hit!” she heard Garrus yell; how he’d seen her through the confusion she had no idea, but she had other concerns right now. Agony was burning through her from that impact site, up her leg, spreading like fire. She gritted her teeth, hunkering down behind a crate while she fumbled for the damn medigel –

A sudden blast threw her, out of nowhere; everything tunnelled into ringing darkness, falling away into nothing.

* * *

When Shepard came to, she was disoriented, like her head was full of water, and a whine still persisted in her ears. It took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened; she stirred a little. For some reason gravity was behaving strangely and her arm was pinned to something.

“Why don’t _I_ carry her, and _you_ scout ahead?” she heard Kaidan whisper nearby, as she struggled to make sense of the lights passing overhead.

“You need both hands for a proper biotic shield. Besides, she practically landed on me, so I had to pick her up.” The words were subharmonized and vibrated through the solid surface her side was pinned to. Her position slowly dawned on her, and she struggled to lift her head, squinting up.

“Shepard.” Garrus’ voice sounded clearer now. Familiar blue-green eyes and a bony face came into focus above her, peering down. “Hang in there, I’m gonna patch you up. You took a bad hit back there.”

“Yeah, Commander, you hid behind a powder crate. Got you pretty good,” Kaidan supplied.

“Gnnfsh…” was all she could manage in reply as Garrus carefully put her down.

“Now that you’re awake you can tell me where the hell to put the medigel.”

 _Up your ass, Garrus, I’m not a sack of potatoes_ , she wanted to say, but the diplomat in her answered: “Right leg. Could’ve figured that out on the spot, without having to carry me halfway through the station.”

“Sorry, Commander. We didn’t think it was wise to stick around after we finished off the mercs.”

He applied the gel and a little pressure to the area, massaging life back into it for her. Shepard sighed in relief. At least he was first aid trained; that was one redeeming factor.

“Thanks, Garrus,” she groaned, and sat up as soon as the fogginess started to fade.

“Kaidan found some signage up ahead while you were out,” he explained. "We'll need to move fast; no idea if they've raised the alarm yet. Someone's bound to have heard that firefight."

“Yeah – we’re almost there, Commander,” Alenko confirmed. “First room on the left, right over there. Coast looks clear for now.”

* * *

As soon as she could put weight back on her leg, she was off, taking Kaidan and Garrus with her closely in her wake. There was the room, passcoded, but that door was no obstacle; Kaidan’s forward thinking had meant he’d snagged a pass from one of the downed mercenaries, and it slid open with no trouble.

“Signs of life up ahead,” Garrus confirmed tersely, visor glowing blue over his eye as he nodded sharply towards the room. “All ten present.”

“Great,” Shepard said, marching forward. “Let’s radio the ship and –"

Her words trailed away.

“Oh, damn,” Kaidan murmured under his breath, stopping next to her.

“Shepard?” Garrus came after her urgently, looking past her into the room, and then all three were frozen in the doorway.

It was only a small room, with a few storage facilities and three cells within it – little more than glorified holding pens. They were glass-walled and secured with simple passcode locks, much like the doors. Behind those glass compartments, the kidnapped subjects milled about, staring back at them with worried little faces.

Garrus swore under his breath, rifle dropping to his side, and even Shepard’s blood was running cold.

“They’re just…?” Kaidan whispered. “They’re all…?”

Shepard herself couldn’t afford to be shaken – she had to take the initiative and act now, for the safety of their charges. Taking a deep breath, she dropped into professional mode, putting aside her horror and emotions and opening urgent comms with the Normandy.

“Joker, we’re gonna need extraction, ASAP. Be ready for a quick decoupling the minute we bring the hostages back on board. I want the medbay prepared for the new arrivals. And…notify Dr Chakwas to brush up on her pediatrics." She glanced around grimly at the hostages in front of her. "We’ve got ten kids here.”

* * *

The patients were a mixed bag. The only thing they shared in common was the rarity of their blood types, apparently. Two little asari girls clung together when they neared the cells, intimidated. None of them looked hurt or in immediate distress, but they were all clearly shaken from their ordeal aboard the Sacred Angel, and whatever encounter they had had with the doctor. There were a lot of tear-tracks to wipe up and little noses to blow amongst them, that was for sure.

Garrus was just staring and staring, in a sober kind of awe. He looked like he was having a crisis. She didn’t need to tell him that these were the ten he would have sacrificed to kill Saleon; he seemed consumed by that himself. His rifle hung from his limp arm, and his mandibles were slack with the shock. He seemed torn between horror at what could have happened and rage at Dr Heart – or rather, Dr Saleon. His head turned to her, and he looked at her in an unspoken acknowledgement that she had been right, that no revenge could have been worth this. That these had never been ten faceless, expendable lives – and it was only now that he was realizing it.

Kaidan shook his head, disbelieving. “Kids?” he said. “This just gets worse and worse.”

“What do we do, Shepard?” Garrus said weakly. 

She took the initiative decisively. "We're taking them out. Kaidan - get these open, will you?"

“Yes, ma’am.” He hurriedly swiped the pass against the three doors, releasing the magnetic locks and allowing them to swing open. Shepard cautiously moved in, trying to assess the state of the hostages.

As she approached, they huddled together, away from her. Shepard realized how they must look: three armored strangers, heavily armed, one buzzing with biotics and another one towering over their heads; she had to reassure them.

“Hey. It’s gonna be OK. We’re here to help,” Shepard told them gently as she came nearer, kneeling down and raising her visor so they could see her face. She deliberately kept her distance, her voice soft, allowing them to see she wasn’t a threat.

Seeing a female face, and being spoken to in a comforting tone, they all listened closely. Her every instinct was to grab them and run, to get them out of here, but there were too many to keep hold of if they got scared and resisted. They had to know that they were in safe hands.

A human boy close to her shyly spoke up. “Can we go home now? The s’larian said we had to do tests but I don’t want more tests. The nice nurse told me I was all better but then the ship crashed and, and…"

"It's alright," Kaidan said. "We're with the Alliance. We're getting you all out of here and you'll be with your families soon."

A few more of them turned their heads, relaxing a little from their terrified huddles in the corners. They seemed to understand, gradually, that Shepard and her team weren’t with the researchers, or part of the mercenary group. Some of them gravitated shyly towards them, seeking comfort and reassurance that had clearly sorely been lacking in this place. It made her so very angry that they had been treated this way, and that at such a young age they had had to endure this. She understood Garrus' visceral hatred for Dr Saleon, now; he had been right about the man having no bounds to his cruelty. At the very least, she could see no injuries on the captives, beyond a few bandaged wrists - a small mercy that they had arrived in time.

Shepard turned to look at Garrus, and found him staring down at a small turian, who couldn't have come up far past Shepard's hip. She'd never seen a turian child before; his head was round, with no crest, his plates leathery-looking and new. An alien in miniature, blunt mandibles drawn in and not yet long enough to reach past the chin.

She realized from his stance that the young turian was standing stiff at attention in front of Garrus, as though presenting himself for inspection by a senior officer - quivering, but with a belligerent, terrified courage in him. So young but already instilled with a rigid discipline...

“Fellian Aurex, sir," the turian piped up, in a high, two-layered voice. "Fledgling Training Corps, rank…um, rank –”

His rounded face-plates drew together, clearly struggling.

"At ease, there, champ," Garrus told him gruffly, voice rough. "It's all over." She could recognize the tension in him; this was hitting close to home.

"Th-thank you, sir," the kid said, but Garrus shook his head.

" _Sh_ _e's_ the ranking officer here. It's her you need to thank." He looked over at Shepard, mandibles grating against his subjacent jaws, clearly torn up. The turian child looked at Shepard, confused by the height difference. She couldn’t help but catch Garrus’ implication that he was unworthy of any gratitude, even though he'd just gotten them through that altercation with the guards.

“You’ve been very brave," Shepard reassured all the youngsters. "My name's Commander Shepard, and I'll be taking you out of here - we have a ship waiting to pick us all up, if you can gather round over here."

The kids whispered and milled around, but there was a general gravitation towards her, all of them leaving the holding cells. The little turian in particular seemed to have his attention caught by the word "Commander"; Shepard smiled at him kindly as he stared up at her. In the relief and high emotion, the kid’s mandibles started to wobble, and then a three-fingered hand knuckled at his eyes, a strange squeaking coming from his subvocals.

"Oh - hey, it's OK, little guy." She looked over at Garrus in askance, helpless – she didn’t know anything about alien kids, or how the hell to console them.

“Pet his frontal plate," Garrus said. "There on the forehead. It’ll, uh. Calm him down. I think.” He looked away, but she caught the subtle crack in his voice.

Cautiously, she reached out a gauntleted hand and did what he said, gingerly patting the boy's head in a soothing gesture. Those plates were sturdy, but not yet quite as solid as an adult's. Had Garrus been this tiny, once? It was hard for her to imagine him without the crested fringe extending behind his head. As she patted away, the keening and snuffling from the kid died down a little, and she gave him an encouraging smiled. "That's it. Come on, let's stay close to the others."

Kaidan had herded the stragglers out of the room, and was now hovering uncertainly; Garrus came by to take the little turian's hand, ushering him along with them.

"How are we gonna do this, Shepard?" Kaidan asked her, corralling them all into a group as they craned their necks to look up at him. A few of them were still trying to wander over to Vakarian; they could recognize safety in his armored and impressive form.

“I'll scout a path ahead, while you set up a barrier around these guys," Shepard said. "Garrus, you're on our six - make sure they're kept covered, and we'll bring them through the airlock a few at a time. Dr Chakwas can do a preliminary exam on them once we're back on board, make sure they're all healthy."

"Understood," Garrus said. He'd not let go of the kid's hand, who was gazing up at him with something like awe. She was silently relieved. His protective streak was coming through, which meant that he was getting past the shock. She needed him sharp, with his head in the game; they were going to have to move fast if they wanted to get -

A sudden tremor rocked the station's artificial gravity. Kaidan stumbled a little, and Shepard quickly caught one of the young asari who had almost fallen over.

“What was that?” Kaidan asked, looking around them.

“I don't know, but I don't think we should stick around to find out. Come on - back to the Normandy!"

* * *

Alarms started going off as they left the room; it seemed as though their presence had been noticed, and the station was on alert.

Her comms crackled. " _Commander? There's a hell of a scramble going on in there - I've just seen the conveyer's engines powering up. They’re engaging decoupling procedures with the vessel, looks like they’re dumping and running. If they’ve set charges anywhere on the station to cover their tracks, you’ll need to get out of there fast.”_

Shepard cursed. "Damn it. Kaidan – I need you to put that barrier up, quick. We're moving out. I’ll take the littlest – my shields will cover her as long as I’m holding on. And Garrus –”

Garrus wasn’t listening; there was a black, bitter rage in his eyes – but whether it was rage at Dr Saleon or at himself, she couldn’t know. “Where is he?” he hissed between his teeth, mandibles flared straight out. He was going to do something rash, spurred by his near-fatal mistake, the guilt he was clearly feeling, and the shame of having spoken against a superior officer wrongfully back on Metgos – she had to divert him from it at all costs.

“That’s irrelevant right now – our objective is to get these kids back safe,” she reminded him sternly. “We're getting out of here, and then we’re bringing the full force of the Alliance down on him. We have enough evidence to get him caught for life.”

“Shepard -"

“Our priority is the kids – secure them first!"

Joker spoke up on comms again, more urgently. “ _You don’t have long, Commander – if they turn and fire on us, we can’t defend while we’re docked._ "

"Copy that, Joker. We're moving out!"

Kaidan took most of the kids under his shield, Shepard carrying the smallest girl, and Garrus picked up the turian and a human under each arm, all of them rushing forward.

"Path's clear in front of us," Shepard told her squad, checking her omni-tool on the fly. "They're abandoning the station."

"They know they've lost this one," Kaidan said savagely, face intent with the effort of keeping up his barrier. "Don't wanna tangle with the Alliance now that they've been found out. Come on, let's go, go, go!"

They ran for it, past the empty modules, back through the long corridors; Shepard kept an eye out for any mercs left behind, but they'd all cleared out as cleanly as if they had a routine escape plan. Garrus was right - this did feel like a definite modus operandi on the doctor's part.

Garrus’ long strides clanked behind her, and as they neared the Normandy's airlock, he radioed Joker on his own comms. “Joker, which side of the station is their vessel?"

Before Shepard could intervene, he answered: “ _First corridor, opposite the research hub - they won't be bothering you._ "

His head swung round, Shepard’s did too.

At the far end of the dark corridor to their right, by the flashing lights, an airlock was still open, men moving just beyond it.

“Take them!” Garrus snarled suddenly. The small turian and human were thrust at her before she could say anything, and it was all she could do to grab hold of them, twisting around.

“Garrus!”

But it was too late; Garrus was already sprinting down the corridor at that open airlock like a cheetah coursing after its prey, moving faster than she could have imagined possible. With single-minded determination he pelted for that opening, taloned boots scoring the metal deck. The mercenaries heard him coming - she could see their shots rippling against his shields fruitlessly as he ran at them full tilt, faster than those shields could drop.

In a heartbeat he sprang for them, through those doors, straight into the guards.

“GARRUS!”

Shepard lifted her pistol, desperate, but he’d run right into a well-prepared trap – there was no clear shot as they swarmed him, fighting all the while. He managed to take three of them down, lights flashing, red blood flung upon the walls, but there were more and more storming him, grabbing hold of his arms, and he was being overwhelmed -

The airlock doors clanged shut with an echoing finality.


	7. Ampheto-Something-Oxymine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard puts her foot down. Controlled substances get misused. Garrus is unceremoniously rescued.

“We’re tailing that ship,” Shepard said firmly, her grip iron-hard on the back of the chair in the cockpit. “He’s still alive. We _have_ to get him back.”

She hadn’t relaxed for even a second after she and Kaidan had come back on board. How could she? Just when she’d thought things were beginning to turn around, the situation had gone to hell even worse than before. Knowing that she’d just lost another squadmate – _another_! – was driving her to distraction. Even the successful rescue of all ten hostages felt like a hollow victory in the face of losing Garrus.

Damn it all! Why had he run? Surely he’d known better…but there’d been something about him, seeing those kids, knowing what he’d almost done and what had been in store for them with Saleon. It had made him reckless. Like he’d had to pursue justice against _himself_ , to atone for it all. He shouldn’t have played the hero… _she_ should have stopped him, maybe said something to him beforehand, kept him from straying – but what could she have really done? She’d seen that burst of energy in that mad sprint for the Fedele’s airlock. He’d been single-minded, relentless. Nothing would have stopped him from pursuing what he thought was the right course of action.

But hell if she was going to just let this go.

Beside her, Pressly stood stiff, unconvinced, the lines at the corner of his mouth pulled tight in a grimace.

“Commander, their course is taking them towards a salarian governmental research hub,” he warned her. “Engaging them there could cause diplomatic –”

Shepard wouldn't have it. “I’m not losing this squadmate, officer! He’s too important an asset on our primary mission. On Spectre authority I can conduct a search anywhere, in any jurisdiction.” Her jaw clenched as she frowned out at the slow drift of stars ahead of them. “We’re on official business. There’s nowhere they can hide.”

“Commander, I don’t wish to question your judgment, but...if this is about Nihlus…” Pressly began, uncomfortable, but she cut him off.

“No. I’m doing this for _Garrus_. He is a valuable member of the team and deserves better than to be left aboard that ship. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that as Commander I have a duty of care to all of my officers, which I take very seriously.” She wouldn’t hear any dissent, any insinuation of survivor’s guilt from Eden Prime. This was the _only_ course of action. “Besides, the Normandy is a stealth frigate. It’s time to put her through her paces. Joker?”

Her trusty pilot was out of her line of sight, but she could hear his grin. “Loud and clear, ma’am.”

* * *

There was no rest to be had while they were in pursuit; Shepard’s cabin hadn’t been able to provide her the usual sanctuary she usually enjoyed, so she didn’t linger there. The terrible helplessness at the sight of her best sniper overpowered stayed with her. If she sat still for too long, she’d just keep replaying it in her mind, over and over.

Instead of stewing over her latest failure, she opted to go and see how the Normandy’s young guests were doing in their temporary quarters. _Productive. Keeping occupied. Mind on the next task, not on the last one._

The door to the storage area behind the medbay slid open smoothly as Shepard passed through it. This was where they had opted to keep the children for the time being, given how difficult it was to find a good place for youngsters on a working military vessel. But the room here was quiet, safe, and out of the way, so it would suit their purposes well. The poor things needed a place to recover from their ordeal.

After their checkup with Dr Chakwas had determined that no physical harm had befallen them – aside from evidence of blood tests on a few – they had been released into the room for a little recuperation until the Alliance and their families could be notified. Of course, Dr T’Soni’s makeshift office was still in there, but she’d graciously agreed to watch over them while they were here.

Shepard smiled as she caught sight of the asari by her desk, leaning over her terminal. Liara had been a little shy of the children at first, in her own way, but her patience and her calm seemed to have put them all at ease. Of course, Shepard had to remind herself, Liara was barely considered an adult herself, from an asari perspective…perhaps that was what had made the young ones warm to her so quickly.

They’d been timid around Shepard; years of leadership and discipline had given her a permanent air of decisive authority, and she had no idea how to act around them. The moment she’d entered, ten pairs of eyes had looked over at her, silent and staring.

“Oh – Commander,” Liara greeted her, standing when she noticed her presence. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Just thought I’d check up on our new arrivals,” Shepard said, looking around at them. The children had all been bundled up in foil emergency blankets and given a variety of warmed-up MREs to snack on, and seemed fairly content with the new change of scenery. She noticed that the little turian had been given two blankets, likely to conserve more heat; he was sitting with some of the human boys, holding one of his mandibles like a kid might suck its thumb for comfort, listening to them talk with only his plated head and a hand sticking out of the foil.

“How are you holding up?” Shepard asked. “I’m sorry they had to go in here – I couldn’t think of anywhere else to put them.”

Liara gave her a humble smile. “Oh, it’s no trouble, really. They all needed a quiet place. The medbay frightened them, I think, so Dr Chakwas checked them over in here. They’ve been very well behaved, even after all they’ve been through. I can’t imagine what these past few days have been like for them.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to bring the person responsible for all this to justice,” she told her solemnly. “Their families must be worried sick. It’s the least we can do to make sure this Dr "Heart" pays for what he’s put them through.”

This mission was definitely going to leave its mark on her. Anything where civilians – and especially kids – got involved tended to hit everyone pretty hard. But this was why she was with the Alliance; in the end, it was all for their sakes. For the sakes of the everyday people, those who needed protecting, those who needed a safe place to live and thrive.

She looked around at their charges, most of them huddled together in little groups. She hoped they would all have bright days ahead of them, and that they would suffer no ill effects from what had happened. Right now, they all looked peaceful enough, which was a good sign. A few were talking, idly playing with empty MRE wrappers. The rest, Shepard noticed, appeared to be sitting in front of Liara’s terminal, watching a vid she'd put on for them.

Shepard took a closer look, and raised her eyebrows at the screen. “A documentary vid on Prothean relics?” she noted, amused. “Highbrow entertainment, Dr T’Soni.”

Liara fidgeted. “It’s all I had to hand,” she said haltingly, then added: “They may not understand the speech but I…thought that they could at least look at the pictures.” There was an earnest look on her face that made Shepard smile widely.

“Relax, I think it’s an excellent idea,” she assured her. “You might inspire a new generation of researchers. Could help you out in the field one day.”

“That is a nice thought.” Liara smiled back shyly. “They all come from colonies, from what I’ve managed to gather from speaking with them. Those often are good environments for inquisitive minds.”

There was a little giggle nearby; the human boys and the turian were pulling their blankets over their heads, taking turns to hide.

“That one seems to keep looking around,” Liara told her quietly, indicating the turian. “I think he’s searching for Garrus. I understand turians are fiercely loyal to those they consider their superiors, their role models. It’s quite admirable.” Her eyes became downcast. “I hope we’re able to find Garrus soon. He must have felt very strongly about these little ones, to go charging so recklessly into that vessel as you said.”

“It _was_ very reckless,” Shepard murmured heavily.

“Even so…I’m glad that you're deciding to go after him,” Liara admitted. “I’m not sure whether it’s human custom, but the crew seem very tight-knit, and a lot of them keep other species at a distance. With Garrus especially, I know there was some tension. I think they were afraid of him. He didn’t give them any reason to, but I felt some animosity here and there.”

Her lips pursed. “I’m aware. And it’s more pettiness and lack of discipline than custom.” She looked at Liara in concern. “Is that why you've been keeping to this room?”

“No, not at all,” Liara said hastily. “I prefer to work quietly on my own. And Dr Chakwas is so very nice to talk to if I need company. She takes my research seriously, and I appreciate that. I just…notice these things, now and then; that’s all.”

Hmm. If Liara, who seldom left her office, was able to notice any undesirable undercurrents amongst some of the crew, then Shepard knew there was definitely a problem. All at once her annoyance took over her weariness. So much had gone wrong in her first command of a ship – a lot of that was beyond her control. But this…this was something _very much_ within her control.

And she was going to damn well put a stop to this once and for all.

* * *

The senior officers seemed confused as to why they had been summoned to the comms room, but Shepard had had enough. She needed to make sure the whole crew from the top down was on the same damn page, that there were no stupid divisions that could put them all at risk. These things had a habit of spiraling out of control, and she’d seen it happen before – and she knew what damage it could cause.

Once they were all assembled, she stood before them, hands behind her back, rigid and stern.

“As you know,” she told them, “we’re currently tailing a vessel in pursuit of our abducted turian officer. It’s come to my attention that some amongst our crew believe this to be a waste of time and resources, and that he is “only an alien”.” She fixed them with a hard stare. “Now, I am fully aware of humanity’s history with turians, and the fact that we’re new players in the intergalactic scene. We’re just one tiny piece of a huge universe, with countless species who may be similar to us or radically different. But the important thing is that we _cooperate_ and work _together_. And the only way we can achieve that is starting from the small-scale, with our everyday attitude.”

She paced before them, their faces blank and solemn – though a few had guilty flickers to their eyes.

Shepard continued: “This turian helped save the lives of ten abducted children who were taken from a crashed vessel on Metgos. He showed unwavering courage, and though he may have made an error in judgment, his intentions have been honest and true. It’s thanks to him that we have now made a successful hostage recovery. He is an indispensable asset to our primary mission, and we will do our _utmost_ to recover him.”

She turned on her heel, and addressed them directly.

“Officers. I want you to make it clear to all junior team members that our stance on non-humans is one of acceptance, and that I will _not_ tolerate any hostility, passive or otherwise, towards alien crew members. This ship is a joint venture. So is our mission. I want this pettiness _over_ with.”

She looked over them all, making sure they understood.

“That will be all. You may return to your posts.”

* * *

The MSV Fedele hadn’t gone far; Joker had judged by the emissions from their engines alone that they were low on fuel reserves. They’d probably been refueling back at the station, where they’d been interrupted by the Normandy ground team’s incursion. But the ship wasn’t pushing itself; they were in salarian territory now, and seemed to be confident that that was going to prevent Shepard from following. Indeed, with the Normandy cloaking, it probably seemed to them that they’d lost their pursuers for good.

How wrong they were.

“Wrex?” Shepard said briskly, slamming her pistol home in her holster. “You’re coming with me. Just the two of us.”

Wrex looked up at her from the armor he was tinkering with, surprised. “To save a turian? Huh.” For a moment she thought he’d refuse, but then he agreed: “Well, you got me. That hardass has his heart in the right place. But you really want a krogan on an infiltration mission?”

Shepard was holding no pretenses. “The infiltration is just the initial part. After we infiltrate…I anticipate a fight.”

He grinned. “Now that’s more like it.”

They geared up quickly, taking what they needed from the lockers. Time was of the essence; who knew what they were doing to Garrus in there, or what they had already done? She didn’t want to think about it. Those images on the datapad had been illustrative enough of the horrors that had befallen Saleon’s victims. She focused instead on the practical details – her clip, her weapons, her armor. Garrus would still have his comms on his omni-tool, so they would be able to trace him through the signal even if they needed to. Shepard tossed Wrex his shotgun, giving Pressly and Joker the heads-up that they were ready to go.

“I don’t know how much time we have, so we’re going to have to get in there quick,” she said, tense. “But I’m depending on Garrus’ training to have helped him at least hold out until we reach him.”

"Copy that." While they waited for the hatch to open, Wrex squinted at her pensively, then spoke up: “Kid idolizes you, you know. Might not admit it, but he does. All those hours slaving over the Mako, making himself useful to you. Watching how you talk to people. It could just be down to custom, but…I think you’ve gotten through to him.”

Shepard gave a laugh of disbelief, dismissive, as they stepped into the airlock. “Are you kidding? I lost him. And he nearly turned on me, back on Metgos.”

Wrex shook his head, grinning his wide krogan grin. “He’s young, Shepard. Still got that spunk in him. Thinks he knows best. But you’ve helped knocked some sense into him.” He rolled his shoulders. “We’ll get him back. You’ll see.”

* * *

They entered a small bay on the other side of the airlock, lined with crates and equipment hurriedly stacked against the starboard bulkhead. The MSV Fedele was compact and modular, much like the tiny station had been. Shepard had boarded enough Kowloon-class conveyers to recognize the layout; she barely needed any blueprints or maps on her omni-tool.

The matter of finding Garrus was also, for better or worse, unexpectedly simplified. There was little need to follow the ping of his comms when the portside wall and floor were scored with what were unmistakably claw-marks, leading off to the left. Here and there, red blood was splattered on the metal paneling.

Wrex grunted. “Put up a fight,” he growled appreciatively. “One thing you learn about turians is that they don’t like being captured. Rather die than be made prisoner.”

“I’m sure it’s not going to come to that,” Shepard said sternly. Garrus had a solid head on his shoulders. He’d clearly fought like a bag of cats wherever they had dragged him, but he’d hold out for a rescue; she knew it.

She and Wrex rounded a corner, and came across four mercenary guards just entering the corridor from the opposite end; instantly the men drew their weapons, startled, shots blasting their way. They didn’t stand a chance. Wrex gunned them down, soaking up every shot, bellowing a war cry as he charged ahead, Shepard bringing up the rear with her pistol. A krogan was useful in many situations – and in this one, he truly shone.

Even as they battled their way along the ship, her energy fueled by the stress of the past day, Shepard kept an eye out, following those intermittent scratches. When the last guard in front of them fell, and smoke from Wrex’s overworked shotgun coiled to the ceiling, she grabbed his arm, pointing at an open doorway to their left.

“Over here!” She’d spotted something there, just inside – she pulled Wrex after her, across the threshold. “Watch the door.”

There was a metal table at the center of the room that had become some sort of makeshift gurney. Tightly bound to it, looking very limp, was her lost officer, his powerful legs tied at the ankles and wrists immobilized by more restraints.

“Garrus!"

They’d stripped him to the waist, armor in a heap at the corner of the room, harsh lights throwing the plates of his torso into sharp relief. He looked skinny without his armor, more vulnerable than she’d expected, all sinew and wiry tendons. Judging by the vials of some thick blue liquid in a nearby cabinet, he’d been subjected to a little bloodletting himself. Saleon was truly an opportunist.

Shepard rushed over to him, heart in her mouth. He was very still – hadn’t reacted to the gunshots, or their presence at all. She checked him over. Dark eyelids were closed, but his tapering chest rose and fell gently; that was a good sign.

Hurriedly she raised her omni-tool, checking him over with some swift diagnostics.

She finally breathed out. “He’s fine. Minor surface injuries only. Just sedated. Whatever it is has him knocked cold,” she told Wrex, shaking her head.

“Guess they had to keep him contained _somehow_ ,” he replied. "Surprised he didn't rip through the hull."

A datapad lay on a workbench nearby; Shepard picked it up, scrolling through it for any information she could gather. However, all she found upon it was a readout of general vitals, and a small note: “ _Turian male. Good health, vigorous specimen. Nearing prime maturity. Not genetically noteworthy; PALV-_ _α_ _15 haplogroup common to turian homeworld. Of special interest to research leader._ ”

Shepard grimaced. That doctor sure worked fast. It was fortunate that they’d caught up with the Fedele when they had; Garrus looked pretty beat up, and the blood loss had probably done him no favors.

She leant over him. “Hey. Garrus.” She shook his plated shoulder, while Wrex looked about. Those plates were rough, but warm – it was strange to the touch. “Garrus, wake up…”

He stirred a little but didn’t budge, still out, though the segmented plates of his torso were still expanding and contracting evenly with his breathing. Who knew how long those sedatives were going to last?

“We’ve gotta get him moving,” Wrex growled, impatient, and stomped over. “HEY, HARDASS,” he yelled helpfully, making Shepard jump. “WAKEY-WAKEY. WE’RE BUSTING YOU OUT.” He vigorously tapped their squadmate’s mandible with the back of his hand.

“Wrex,” Shepard snapped at him, catching him by the wrist. “Bedside manner?”

He scowled defensively. “Well yours clearly isn’t doin’ much.”

Shepard sighed, starting to slice through the ties that bound Garrus' wrists and ankles with her omni-blade on precision mode, figuring that she could at least undo his restraints. At the contact, his dark eyelids twitched; hazily, they began to lift.

“Shep’rd?” he mumbled, reacting to her presence, his voice croaky, confused. “What…?” Shepard pushed Wrex away, who had just leant down to loom right in his face. She didn’t need him shocking their convalescent companion back into unconsciousness.

“You’re still aboard the ship. You’ve been held here for about ten hours. We’re getting you to safety,” she told him calmly, looking into his eyes while still trying to assess the damage, examining his pupils. “Do you know what they gave you?”

He blinked slowly, head heavy, and lifted a hand to his crest.

“Ugh…Some sedatives…took a bunch of blood…but I’m OK. Just need a moment to…wake up. Think I broke someone’s arm…” he groaned. “Head’s killing me, but I don’t think I’ve got any…extra spleens or anything yet.” His hands groggily patted along his chest and abdomen, looking for any incisions. “Guess I didn’t make the best tactical decision back there.”

“You didn’t,” Shepard agreed grimly. “But we’ll deal with that after we get you back safely –“

Garrus’ blue-green eyes began to roll upward, and he swayed in his half-risen position. Shepard darted out her arms to steady him, supporting his weight as he nearly overbalanced. “Whoa, there, easy. Stay with me, big guy,” she said to him, making him focus on her voice. “We’ll get you out of here. You’ll be hard to carry if you pass out.”

“Copy that, C’mmander…” he muttered, mandibles sagging.

He felt leathery and very solid in her arms, but the weakness was making him bend in all sorts of ways, barely able to clutch onto her armor with his talons.

“Sedatives sure did a number on him,” Shepard confirmed to Wrex, concerned for their companion. "Feel like he's gonna pass out again."

“Hmph. Looks like dead weight.” No sympathy there. Instead, Shepard set her attention back on Vakarian.

“Hey. Garrus. Look at me. That’s it,” she said, trying to keep him conscious while her mind ran through all their options. “I need you to stay awake, OK? Just focus on my voice for now.” Maybe they’d have to sweep the whole ship, clear it of hostiles, and double back for Garrus later…but now that they’d found him she was reluctant to leave him, especially in such a somnolent state.

A distracted snort of amusement behind her interrupted her racing thoughts; Shepard turned around.

Wrex was browsing the containers by the wall. “Oh, hey. Give him a bit of this. Perk him right up.”

She frowned at him dubiously. “What is it?”

He waved a clear bottle at her. “Seen this stuff on the black market. Ampheto-something-oxymine. Street name’s Crash. Not a bad amount here, and it’ll be squeaky clean coming from a lab.” He weighed it happily in his hand.

She almost let Garrus slump out of her grasp. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Most people get a decent buzz off it,” Wrex continued pensively, ignoring her. “But in dextro aliens, it’s a hell of a stimulant. Sends turians _raving_. Saw it do its magic often enough at Chora’s Den, heh heh. Gets ‘em dancing for hours.”

Her lips thinned to a line. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Look at him, he’s drugged up enough already.”

Wrex scoffed, undeterred. “Maybe those sedatives'll balance it out. Just need the right dose. What is he, two hundred pounds? Come on, Shepard, we’re running out of time. You fancy our odds against a ship full of mercs, or you want a turian on top of his form with us too?”

This was going against her every instinct. But time was of the essence – they were in enemy territory, Garrus wasn’t getting any more alert, and Wrex had already found a measuring beaker. It was a terrible, terrible idea…and yet the thought of leaving Vakarian here on his own was even worse.

“Just – don't overdo it,” she found herself saying, barely able to get the words out.

The krogan gave her a broad, pleased grin, eyes glittering. “Absolutely,” he said, then turned to Garrus, splashing out a shot of the stuff into the glass cup. “Come on, Vakarian, open wide.”

She felt sorry for Garrus. Truly. Wrex advancing on him and dumping a cup of mystery liquid between his jaws would have been a lot to take in even when completely lucid. Not to mention he was forcibly downing the kind of controlled substance that would have gotten anyone arrested by C-Sec, if they’d been on the Citadel.

But this wasn’t the Citadel, and this sure wasn’t C-Sec either. _This is some crazy farce in the guise of an Alliance Navy operation_ , Shepard thought to herself in abject shame.

Garrus spluttered, coughing a good quarter of the liquid over Wrex and Shepard, and shook his head, blinking rapidly.

“ _Damn_ , that stings,” he wheezed at the krogan. “The hell is your problem?”

“Your bony ass not getting up is my _problem_ ,” Wrex explained helpfully, then gave Shepard a hearty wink. “But I think we’ve solved that now.”

“How do you feel?” Shepard immediately asked, concerned for him. Garrus stretched his arms experimentally, straightening up a little.

“Mmm...Awake?” he said simply. “But I don’t know if that’s the shock or whatever that was I just swallowed. Either way, I…I think I can move now.”

He shifted his weight, swinging his long legs off the table. Shepard watched him, very cautious. “Are you sure you can stand?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he grunted. “I feel great actually. Just a little…strange, but otherwise all good. You managed to find an antidote to that sedative?”

Shepard ignored Wrex’s grin. “More or less. Do you know where they put the rest of your equipment?”

“Hmm…locker over there. They were in a rush.” Garrus paused to squint at her. “Say, why is your hair that color?”

“It isn’t,” Shepard said briskly. “Come on, we need to move.” She hauled him to his feet, helping him along, while their krogan squadmate loaded up his shotgun.

“What about the kids?” Garrus asked her quietly, two-toned voice low. “You get them out OK?”

“All on the Normandy. Liara’s taken to babysitting quite well.”

There was still that fire in his eyes, determination burning there. “That’s one good thing to come of this. And I’m glad you got to me before they started on the special treatment – shame they put me under before I could get hold of Saleon.”

She watched as put his armor back on, buckling the guards on tight, looking more than ready for action. She breathed a silent sigh of relief at that; no ill effects from Wrex’s “ampheto-something-oxymine” were immediately apparent but she’d keep a close eye on him anyway. _If Anderson ever knew…_

“ _There_ she is,” Garrus suddenly purred, lifting the folded Equalizer rifle off the table and weighing it lovingly in his hands. “Now that’s a lot better. I’d say I'm good to go, Shepard.” The gun unfolded to its full, formidable length. “And I know _exactly_ where that son of a bitch is hiding.”


End file.
